Card  fine  Sacver 


EVERY  INCH 

A  KING 

The  Romance  of  Henry  of  Mon- 
mouth,  Sometime  Prince  of  Wales 

By 

Josephine  Caroline  Sawyer 

S3l&3S& 

jljeto  gorfe 

Dodd,  Mead  G?  Company 
1901 

Copyright,  1901, 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 


TO    MY    FATHER    AND    MOTHER 

WITHOUT  WHOSE  CONSTANT  SYMPATHY,  ENCOURAGEMENT 

AND  KINDLY  CRITICISM,  THIS  BOOK  COULD 

NEVER  HAVE   BEEN  WRITTEN. 


NOTE 

THIS  book  was  written  with  the  single  purpose  of 
proving  that  the  character  of  Henry  V.,  while 
Prince  of  Wales,  has  been  greatly  misjudged. 

It  should,  therefore,  be  clearly  understood  that 
there  is  most  excellent  historical  authority  for  every 
important  event  in  the  Prince's  life  and  for  every 
trait  of  his  character  which  is  here  portrayed.  The 
romance  alone  is  partly  imaginary,  but  even  this  has 
a  firm  foundation  in  fact,  and  if  the  details  of  it  may 
not  be  found  upon  the  written  page  of  any 
chronicler,  neither  will  the  most  careful  student  find 
evidence  that  they  are  untrue. 

WATERTOWN,  NEW  YORK, 
4  February,  1901. 


EVERY  INCH   A   KING 


CHAPTER  I. 

"One  thought  of  thee  puts  all  the  pomp  to  flight ; 
Priests,  tapers,  temples,  swim  before  my  sight." 

POPE. 

IT  was  the  springtime,  and  France  was  arrayed 
in  all  her  glory.  The  buds  were  swelling  upon  the 
noble  trees,  the  early  flowers  were  peeping  from  the 
grass,  and  the  birds  were  singing  their  sweetest 
songs  to  aid  their  wooing.  Love  was  the  burden  of 
their  melody,  and  as  their  notes  rang  out  joyously 
in  the  early  dawn,  a  young  monk  standing  in  the 
window  of  a  stately  castle  on  the  coast  of  Normandy 
felt  his  heart  throb  in  answer  to  their  plea.  Was  not 
the  whole  world  singing  the  same  glad  song?  And 
why  must  he  stifle  it  upon  his  lips  and  crush  the  pas- 
sion which  turned  his  blood  to  fire? 

He  glanced  about  the  great,  luxurious  chamber, — 
so  worthy  of  a  wealthy  nobleman.  What  mad  freak 
was  it  that  had  impelled  him  to  sacrifice  his  birth- 
right ;  to  abandon  the  gay  court  life  which  had  once 
been  the  goal  of  his  ambition;  and  to  inform  the 
abbot  that  he  would  give  all  his  wealth  to  Mother 
Church  and  would  return  to  the  monastery  in  which 
he  had  been  educated,  there  to  end  his  days  in  holy 


2  Every  Inch  a  King 

peace?  Perchance  it  was  weariness  of  the  artificial 
life  at  Paris  which  impelled  him  to  this  step.  Pos- 
sibly the  long  years  during  which  the  abbot  had  been 
both  father  and  mother  to  the  lonely  orphan,  had 
bred  in  him  a  love  for  the  religious  life.  Most  prob- 
able of  all,  his  fancied  passion  for  a  beautiful  lady  of 
'high  rank,  and  his  despair  upon  her  marriage  to  an- 
other nobleman,  had  driven  him  to  seek  a  refuge 
from  the  world.  Perhaps  the  abbot  had  doubted  the 
sincerity  of  his  resolution  and  had  suspected  that  a 
brief  delay  would  cause  his  unstable  mind  to  change 
once  more ; — certain  it  is,  that  he  pressed  the  matter 
vigorously,  and  within  a  week  the  deeds,  conveying 
the  rich  property  to  the  Church,  were  signed  and 
sealed. 

The  young  monk,  thinking  upon  these  things,  bit 
his  lips,  a  curse  within  his  heart.  Oh,  why  had  he 
given  way  to  a  brief  impulse?  How  could  he  have 
forgotten  that  such  a  step  would  seal  his  fate  for 
life  ?  And  as  the  memories  of  that  evening,  but  one 
short  month  ago,  came  crowding  to  his  mind,  he 
paced  the  chamber  restlessly,  angry  mutterings  upon 
his  lips. 

On  the  very  night  before  he  had  donned  the  cowl, 
the  Queen  and  her  court  passed  near,  and  he  had 
spent  the  last  hours  of  freedom  in  entertaining  roy- 
ally his  sovereign  lady.  Among  those  attending 
upon  Queen  Isabella,  the  consort  of  Charles  VI., 
was  a  maiden,  a  child  in  years,  but  so  beautiful,  so 
bewitching  in  her  sweet  innocence,  that  the  young 


Every  Inch  a  King  3 

nobleman  found  surging  in  his  heart  a  passionate 
love  which  bewildered  him.  With  the  long-prac- 
ticed skill  of  a  courtier  he  tried  to  win  a  blush  and  a 
smile  from  the  little  maid,  but  her  unconsciousness 
and  ignorance  of  coquetry  defeated  him.  Spurred 
on  to  fresh  endeavors,  he  soon  found  that  the  game 
was  turning  from  jest  to  earnest;  and  when  the 
Queen  and  her  court  rode  onward  the  next  morn,  he 
had  laid  his  heart  at  her  childish  feet,  and  received 
as  his  only  response  a  wondering,  wide-eyed  smile 
and  a  deep  courtesy. 

Baffled,  enraged  alike  at  his  failure  to  make  her 
understand,  and  at  the  fate  which  awaited  him,  the 
young  nobleman  laid  aside  his  rich  garments,  and 
with  submissive  face,  but  a  heart  rilled  with  bitter 
hate,  he  presented  himself  before  the  abbot,  and 
without  passing  through  the  usual  novitiate,  he  be- 
came a  monk. 

The  abbot  noticed  his  restless  melancholy,  and  ad- 
vised some  active  labor ;  so,  having  already  gained  a 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  illuminating,  he  commenced 
to  write  the  Gospel  of  St.  John; — but  a  beautiful, 
childish  face  swam  ever  before  his  eyes ;  and,  secret- 
ing a  piece  of  heavy  vellum,  he  began  slowly  to  paint 
those  dear  features  which  were  stamped  upon  his 
brain.  With  exquisite  daintiness,  and  the  tender 
touch  of  a  lover,  he  worked  diligently,  and  soon  the 
little  miniature,  as  the  work  of  illumination  was 
called,  lay  completed  in  his  bosom,  and  he  returned 
to  the  task  which  had  been  set  him;  but  ever  and 


4  Every  Inch  a  King 

anon  he  would  lay  aside  the  Holy  Gospel  and  cover 
many  sheets  of  vellum  with  the  outlines  of  that  same 
fair  face,  nor  could  he  force  his  hand  to  destroy  the 
sketches. 

Thus  he  nourished  and  kept  alive  his  passion  until 
the  Queen  returned  from  her  journey  and  tarried  for 
a  day  at  a  neighboring  town.  Forgotten  in  a  mo- 
ment were  duty  and  honor  and  even  safety ;  for  the 
young  monk,  stealing  from  the  monastery,  hurried 
to  the  near-by  castle,  entered,  by  a  secret  passage,  his 
old  chamber,  left  still  untouched,  and  robed  himself 
in  his  most  gorgeous  doublet  and  hose,  with  sword 
and  spurs  of  gold,  and  a  rich  riding  cloak.  Then 
managing  to  obtain  one  of  his  noblest  horses,  he  rode 
away  to  the  town,  where  the  Queen  received  him 
with  much  graciousness,  never  dreaming  that  he  had 
become  a  monk.  There  he  saw  also  the  little  maiden, 
and  she  had  not  forgotten  him ;  but  she  did  not  leave 
the  Queen's  side,  and  he  dared  not  show  her  the  pic- 
ture which  he  had  intended  to  give  her,  but  was 
forced  to  ride  away  at  last,  unsatisfied,  and  still 
more  discontented. 

Slowly,  in  deep  thought,  he  had  sought  his  cham- 
ber and  put  aside  his  rich  apparel,  leaving  the  gar- 
ments in  confusion  on  the  floor.  Reluctantly  he  had 
folded  the  rough  cloak  of  his  order  about  his  shoul- 
ders ;  and  now  he  stood  by  the  window,  gazing  lov- 
ingly toward  the  town  which  sheltered  his  beloved, 
and,  heedless  of  advancing  day  and  of  his  own  dan- 
ger, abandoned  himself  to  a  lover's  passionate  dream. 


Every  Inch  a  King  5 

Long  he  stood  there,  desperately  striving  to  find 
some  path  to  happiness,  and  the  sun's  rays  had 
gilded  the  east  with  fiery  radiance,  when,  on  a  sud- 
den, the  sound  of  many  feet  approaching  startled 
the  young  man  from  his  revery.  He  turned,  with  a 
sharp  cry  of  terror ;  for,  as  his  door  swung  wide,  he 
beheld  the  abbot  standing  upon  the  threshold,  while 
behind  him  clustered  a  group  of  monks. 

One  glance  from  the  culprit's  guilty  face  to  the 
raiment  strewn  about  the  apartment  and  the  gleam- 
ing sword  near  by,  convicted  him ;  and  the  abbot  ad- 
vanced with  a  stern  countenance.  "How  didst  thou 
dare !"  he  cried  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  "Dost  realize 
the  sin  thou  hast  committed?  Thou  hast  wronged 
both  God  and  man !  Thou  hast  broken  thy  solemn 
vows  and  taken  again  to  thyself  the  state  which  thou 
hadst  sacrificed  to  the  Most  High!  Shame  upon 
thee,  thou  who  hast  robbed  the  Church  of  thine  own 
gift  to  her !" 

The  sinful  monk  sank  upon  his  knees.  "Have 
mercy  upon  me,"  he  pleaded  in  quivering  tones. 
The  abbot's  hard  face  set  in  grim  triumph.  During 
the  long  years  in  which  the  haughty  young  noble 
had  been  under  his  charge  he  had  never  dared  to 
deal  with  him  sternly ;  but  now  the  broad  lands  were 
the  possession  of  the  monastery  and  this  proud  spirit 
must  humbly  yield  to  him.  Ah,  he  would  make  him 
suffer !  He  would  show  the  monks  under  his  control 
that  even  the  highest  among  them  should  not  escape 
punishment.  "Mercy"?  he  answered  fiercely,  "for 


6  Every  Inch  a  King 

what  mercy  canst  thou  hope,  thou  sinful  man? 
Know  that  thy  guilt  is  plain; — look  at  these,  and 
then  deny  if  thou  darest,  that  thou  hast  loved  a  mor- 
tal maiden,  hast  robbed  God  even  of  thy  heart  and 
given  it  to  her !  And  thou  hast  even  now  been  with 
her !"  he  exclaimed,  waving  before  the  culprit's  face 
the  tell-tale  sketches  found  in  his  cell. 

With  a  cry,  the  young  man  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
shrank  back  against  the  tapestry.  It  was  discovered 
then — his  sinful  love.  He  must  yield  himself,  give 
up  forever  all  thought  of  this  sweet  maiden,  sur- 
render the  picture  in  his  bosom  to  be  destroyed,  and 
submit  to  the  terrible  punishment  which  awaited 
him.  His  face  blanched  at  the  thought.  Well  he 
remembered,  in  his  boyhood,  a  monk  who  had  dared 
to  love  and  the  fate  that  befell  him.  Must  he  sub- 
mit and  humble  his  proud  spirit  to  such  disgrace? 
No,  by  Heaven!  Why  not  fly,  escape  to  England, 
seek  refuge  at  the  court,  and  some  day  return,  a 
mighty  English  lord,  to  win  his  bride?  His  vows? 
He  had  already  broken  them.  He  had  already 
sinned  most  deeply.  What  matter  one  more  naughty 
deed?  And  even  as  the  abbot  stepped  toward  him, 
crying, — "Yield  thyself,  as  thou  art  a  true  monk!" 
his  trembling  hand  found  the  secret  spring,  the  panel 
opened,  and  with  one  bound  he  had  dashed  it  shut 
behind  him  and  rammed  home  a  trusty  bolt ;  and  ere 
the  astounded  abbot  could  utter  a  cry,  his  prisoner 
was  far  down  the  secret  passage,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment had  leapt  upon  the  back  of  his  horse,  secreted 


Every  Inch  a  King  7 

near  the  opening,  and  was  riding  furiously  in  the 
direction  of  that  harbor  of  refuge — Calais. 

For  many  hours  he  rode,  exhausted  and  fasting, 
not  daring  to  stop  for  food  or  rest ;  and  as  he  neared 
his  destination  his  tired  horse  took  fright  at  some 
vague  shape,  and  dashing  forward,  shook  off  the 
weary  man's  control.  In  a  moment  they  reached  the 
open  drawbridge  to  the  citadel,  but  the  cry  of 
"Halt!"  sounded  faintly  in  the  young  monk's  ears, 
and  he  could  only  tighten  his  hold  upon  the  saddle. 
Then  a  swift  arrow  smote  him  in  the  breast,  and  he 
was  whirled  along  through  space  to  fall  senseless 
when  the  hoof-beats  ceased. 

When  at  last  he  became  conscious,  and  opened  his 
eyes,  it  was  the  twilight  hour,  and  he  found  himself 
lying  upon  a  couch  covered  with  furs  in  a  large 
chamber  apparently  belonging  to  a  man  of  rank.  It 
was  rudely  furnished,  yet  rushes  were  upon  the  floor, 
rich  tapestries  covered  the  cold  stone  walls,  and 
upon  a  chest  near  by  lay  several  articles  of  clothing 
of  the  finest  texture,  and  above  them  hung  sus- 
pended a  handsome  sword.  As  the  young  monk 
slowly  became  conscious  of  these  details,  a  low, 
sweet  voice  fell  upon  his  ears,  asking  in  the  English 
language,  which  he  understood,  "Art  thyself  again, 
good  brother?  'Tis  many  hours  since  thou  didst 
close  thine  eyes." 

He  turned  upon  his  pillow,  and  saw  a  figure  bend- 
ing over  him — tall,  slender  and  perfectly  developed, 
clad  in  rich  though  sombre  garments,  with  grace  in 


8  Every  Inch  a  King 

every  line  of  the  supple  body,  and  the  pride  of  birth 
in  the  carriage  of  the  head;  but  what  chiefly  fasci- 
nated the  impressionable  young  monk  and  caused 
him  to  gaze  as  if  entranced,  was  the  delicate  face, 
every  line  cut  with  exquisite  clearness,  having  a 
broad  forehead  and  a  slender  though  by  no  means  a 
weak  chin  and  jaw,  a  nose  a  trifle  too  long  for  per- 
fect symmetry,  but  straight  and  evenly  shaped,  a 
firm,  sweet  mouth,  and  glorious,  deep  brown  eyes 
filled  with  tender  pity.  But  its  greatest  beauty 
lay  in  the  smile  upon  those  lips — a  smile  so  brilliant 
yet  so  gentle,  that  the  suffering  monk  smiled  faintly 
in  reply,  and  feebly  stretched  out  his  hand  as  if 
seeking  help  and  comfort  from  this  stranger. 

The  Englishman  knelt  before  him  and  took  the 
trembling  hand  in  his  strong,  gentle  grasp.  "Art 
suffering,  brother?"  he  asked.  The  monk  nodded 
feebly,  and  then  asked  in  broken  English  where  he 
was.  "This  is  Calais,"  answered  the  other  quickly. 
"Et  tti  ?"  "An  English  officer  in  charge  of  the  gar- 
rison." 

The  Frenchman's  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  the 
face  beside  him.  He  lay  silent  for  a  moment  gazing 
upon  it ;  then  a  sudden  memory  of  why  he  was  here 
made  him  start  violently  and  cry  out  with  mingled 
pain  and  dread.  The  Englishman  sprang  up  and 
crossed  the  room,  returning  with  some  wine. 
"Drink,"  he  commanded,  raising  the  monk  by  plac- 
ing an  arm  beneath  his  shoulders,  while  he  held  the 
goblet  to  his  lips ;  then,  in  answer  to  the  mute  appeal 


Every  Inch  a  King  9 

in  the  terror-stricken  eyes,  he  added  gently,  "Thou 
art  safe  with  me,  good  brother."  The  monk  sighed 
and  turned  his  head  away;  then  suddenly  began  to 
fumble  beneath  his  gown,  an  alarmed  expression 
crossing  his  face.  The  Englishman,  watching  him 
closely,  went  to  the  chest  and  took  from  it  a  piece 
of  heavy  vellum.  "When  thy  wound  was  dressed," 
he  explained,  "I  found  this  in  thy  breast.  No  eyes 
but  mine  have  seen  it,  brother."  The  other  seized 
it  feverishly  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  moaning  in 
French,  "Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  am  I  never  to  see 
thy  dear  face  again?"  Then  with  a  sudden  remem- 
brance of  his  sin,  he  shrank  back  among  his  cushions 
and  threw  his  arms  across  his  eyes  as  if  to  conceal 
his  face. 

The  Englishman  knelt  once  more  beside  him  and 
said  gently,  "Brother,  if  thou  hast  sinned,  confess, 
and  ask  forgiveness  ere  it  is  too  late.  Shall  I  send 
thee  a  priest  ?" 

"Non,  non !"  cried  the  monk  in  fierce  terror,  then 
humbly  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  confess  to  him. 

"I  am  not  a  priest,"  answered  the  officer,  drawing 
back,  but  the  monk  answered  brokenly  that  he  had 
sinned  past  earthly  forgiveness;  that  God  alone 
might  grant  him  pardon,  and  that  his  benefactor's 
prayers  would  greatly  comfort  him. 

So,  through  the  long  watches  of  the  night,  the 
Englishman  sat  beside  the  repentant  monk,  listening 
to  the  story  of  his  life,  told  feebly,  with  long  pauses 
between  the  sentences,  and  in  a  mixture  of  broken 


io  Every  Inch  a  King 

English  and  much  French.  Tenderly  the  young 
officer  bathed  his  wounds,  gave  him  wine  and  food, 
often  held  him  in  his  arms  that  the  poor,  wearied 
body  might  be  relieved,  and,  greatest  comfort  of 
all,  soothed  his  mental  anguish  with  tender  words 
and  earnest  prayers  to  the  Great  Pardoner. 

When  morning  dawned  the  monk  knew  that  his 
hour  of  life  was  short.  Drawing  from  beneath  his 
pillow  the  fatal  picture,  he  placed  it  in  the  English- 
man's hand,  and  with  a  last  effort  gathered  strength 
to  utter  brokenly  the  gratitude  which  filled  his  heart. 
Looking  into  those  clear  eyes  rilled  with  pitying 
tears,  he  begged  him  to  keep  the  miniature  in  re- 
membrance of  his  wretched  story  and  as  a  warning 
against  unholy  love.  Then,  a  blessing  upon  his  lips, 
his  voice  grew  faint,  he  gasped  with  pain,  and  his 
head  fell  back  against  the  officer's  breast. 

With  a  quiet  reverence  the  young  Englishman 
laid  the  form  among  the  cushions  and  stood  for  a 
moment  gazing  upon  the  monk's  face,  troubled  no 
longer,  but  very  calm  in  death.  Then  thrusting  the 
picture  into  his  bosom  he  softly  passed  from  the 
chamber  and  gently  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"I  do  love 

My  country's  good  with  a  respect  more  tender, 
More  holy  and  profound  than  mine  own  life." 

CORIOLANUS. 

THE  rich  verdure  of  the  English  country,  the  de- 
lightful coolness  of  the  air  after  a  long  period  of 
heat,  and  the  monarch's  consequent  increase  of 
health — these-  were  the  chief  causes  which  brought 
Henry  Bolingbroke  to  the  forest  of  Windsor  in 
order  that  on  this  glorious  summer  day  he  might 
enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  chase. 

Only  twelve  years  had  passed  since  Henry,  then 
the  handsome,  gallant  Duke  of  Hereford,  had  landed 
in  England  to  demand  his  estates  of  Lancaster, 
wrongfully  kept  from  him  since  his  father's  death  by 
his  cousin,  Richard  the  Second.  The  people  had  risen 
suddenly  in  their  might,  and,  led  by  the  greatest 
nobles  of  the  land,  forced  Richard  to  resign,  and 
placed  the  crown  upon  Henry's  head.  Then  Parlia- 
ment, boldly  exercising  its  growing  power,  had 
passed  by  the  line  of  Mortimer,  descended  from  the 
Duke  of  Clarence's  daughter,  whose  representative, 
Edmund,  Earl  of  March,  was  at  that  time  only  eight 
years  of  age,  and  had  declared  Bolingbroke  and  his 
heirs  to  be  the  rightful  rulers  over  England.  Rich- 
ard, the  former  king,  soon  died  mysteriously;  the 


1 2  Every  Inch  a  King 

Earl  of  March  was  a  prisoner  in  Windsor  Castle; 
and  after  crushing  numberless  rebellions,  Henry  the 
Fourth  at  last  could  rule  in  peace. 

But  those  twelve  years  of  almost  constant  war- 
fare had  left  their  fatal  mark  upon  the  King.  He 
had  been  a  strong — a  powerful  ruler,  the  conqueror 
of  his  enemies,  the  leader  of  his  people;  and  with 
Thomas  Arundel,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  as  his 
chancellor,  he  had  reigned  like  a  king  indeed.  But 
now,  broken  in  health,  old,  while  yet  young  in  years, 
and  feeling  the  love  and  support  of  his  faithful 
people  slipping  from  him  day  by  day,  Bolingbroke 
had  been  compelled  to  surrender  the  actual  govern- 
ment into  the  hands  of  his  eldest  son. 

In  the  fall  of  1410,  Thomas  of  Clarence,  the 
King's  second  son,  had  married  Margaret  Holland, 
widow  of  the  Earl  of  Somerset,  over  whose  will  he 
had  quarrelled  with  the  deceased  nobleman's  broth- 
ers, Thomas  Beaufort,  known  to  history  as  the  Duke 
of  Exeter,  and  Henry  Beaufort,  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester. These  two  powerful  men,  half-brothers  of 
the  King,  were  the  leaders  of  a  strong  party  in  oppo- 
sition to  Archbishop  Arundel;  and  among  their 
numbers  were  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  the  Baron  Scrope, 
and  the  Earl  of  Arundel,  nephew  of  the  archbishop. 
To  this  party  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  allied  himself ; 
and  upon  the  rapid  increase  of  the  King's  illness, 
Parliament,  to  whose  will  Henry  had  ever  bowed, 
and  upon  whose  pleasure  depended  his  retention  of 
the  throne,  had  shown  such  marked  displeasure  at 


Every  Inch  a  King  1 3 

Arundel's  policy  that  the  haughty  churchman  had 
been  compelled  to  resign  the  chancellorship.  The 
government  was  thereupon  vested  in  a  strong  coun- 
cil with  Thomas  Beaufort  as  chancellor,  the  Bishop 
of  Winchester  as  the  leading  spirit,  and  the  Prince 
of  Wales  as  actual  ruler  of  the  realm. 

Such  a  situation  filled  the  King's  heart  with  great 
bitterness,  and  as  he  observed  the  increasing  popu- 
larity of  the  Prince,  an  intense,  unreasoning  jealousy 
of  his  son  laid  hold  upon  him,  and  he  did  not  fail, 
upon  the  slightest  return  of  health,  to  make  every 
effort  to  regain  his  power. 

Thus  it  happened  that  upon  this  glorious  July  day, 
when  the  chief  members  of  the  council  who  had  ac- 
companied Henry  upon  his  morning  hunt,  were  pre- 
paring to  start  for  London,  there  to  confer  with  the 
Prince  upon  important  matters,  the  King  prevented 
their  departure. 

"Our  council  will  meet  to-day  at  Windsor,"  he 
informed  them,  adding,  with  the  utmost  careless- 
ness, "I  will  send  a  messenger  to  notify  the  Prince." 

They  gazed  at  him  in  amazement  and  consterna- 
tion. Weeks  had  passed  since  the  King  had  last 
joined  them  in  the  council.  Their  meeting  to-day 
was  a  most  momentous  one,  and  Prince  Henry  could 
not  reach  them  for  many  hours,  if,  indeed,  he  came 
at  all.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Nothing,  it  seemed. 
They  had  too  well  learned  the  peevish  temper  of  the 
sick  King  to  think  of  opposing  his  will,  and  reluc- 
tantly they  resigned  themselves  to  fate,  while 


14  Every  Inch  a  King 

Bolingbroke  rode  home,  an  expression  of  vindictive 
triumph  upon  his  pale,  thin  face. 

The  same  instinctive  desire  to  postpone  the  final 
victory,  which  makes  a  cat  delight  in  its  cruel  play 
with  a  captured  mouse,  caused  the  King  to  delay, 
upon  one  pretext  or  another,  the  assembling  of  the 
council.  They  were  fatigued  by  their  hunt  and 
must  first  dine  at  leisure;  then  the  gracious  Queen 
and  her  noble  ladies  were  in  the  garden,  and  it  would 
seem  ungallant  not  to  give  them  greeting.  So  the 
time  passed,  and  Henry,  feeling  confident  that  his 
son  would  prefer  the  pleasures  of  London  to  the 
labors  of  Windsor,  at  length  summoned  the  lords  to 
join  him  within  the  castle. 

A  gloomy  and  embarrassed  circle  gathered  there, 
restless,  uncertain  what  to  say  or  do.  The  King 
had  been  absent  for  so  long  that  his  council  had 
almost  forgotten  his  existence.  He  was  still  in- 
clined to  follow  Arundel's  advice,  and  when  he 
appeared  at  all,  he  never  failed  to  oppose  Bishop 
Winchester's  policy.  And  to-day  the  consum- 
mation of  a  year's  labor  was  at  last  to  be  reached,  a 
most  important  decision  made,  and  the  final  diplo- 
matic triumph  achieved — and  behold !  the  King  had 
grasped  the  reins  of  power  once  more,  the  Prince 
was  absent,  and  the  hour  for  action  speeding  past! 
How  much  did  Henry  know  of  their  plans  ?  Would 
he  oppose  them,  and  would  they  dare  to  act  against 
his  will?  Should  they  risk  a  fatal  opposition  by 
betraying  their  project,  or  should  they  take  the  no 


Every  Inch  a  King  15 

less  dangerous  course  of  delaying  their  decision,  and 
perhaps  losing  forever  the  chance  for  a  brilliant 
stroke  of  policy  ? 

The  King  gazed  upon  them  with  a  bitter  smile. 
"We  understand,  my  lords,"  he  said,  "that  ye  have 
matters  of  grave  importance  to  discuss  with  us.  We 
are  prepared  to  listen  to  them  now." 

Bishop  Winchester  glanced  doubtfully  at  'his 
royal  brother.  He  was  a  strong  man  and  a  fearless, 
confident  in  his  own  powers  and  ready  in  argument, 
yet  the  task  of  persuading  the  King  to  consent  to 
their  desires  seemed  too  difficult  for  him.  Hesi- 
tatingly he  answered  that  the  defences  of  the  Cinque 
Ports  must  be  strengthened — could  his  Majesty  sug- 
gest some  means? 

The  King  suggested  coldly  that  this  was  not  the 
matter  to  which  he  had  referred. 

Winchester  flushed,  and  Thomas  Beaufort,  com- 
prehending that  the  bishop  desired  to  conceal  their 
true  purpose,  hurriedly  brought  up  the  old  subject 
of  ransoming  the  captive  Prince  James  of  Scotland. 

"Hath  our  brother  of  Scotland  sent  ye  fresh  pro- 
posals ?"  inquired  the  King  sharply.  The  chancellor, 
in  confusion,  answered  "no,"  upon  which  Henry 
said, — "Brother  Thomas,  search  thy  mind  and  may- 
hap thou  shalt  discover  other  and  more  important 
matters  which  require  discussion."  He  looked  from 
one  Beaufort  to  the  other,  but  neither  of  them  cared 
to  meet  his  eyes.  The  Earl  of  Suffolk  suggested 
despairingly  that  "'Twas  rumored  that  Owen  Glen- 


1 6  Every  Inch  a  King 

dower  was  dead,  and  peace  with  Wales  might  be 
made  at  last."  The  King  gave  a  short,  scornful 
laugh.  "That  rumor  reached  our  ears  two  years 
ago,  but  the  magician  doth  still  live  to  thwart  our 
purposes."  Then  rising  to  his  feet,  Henry  gazed 
sternly  upon  the  dismayed  council.  "My  lords,"  he 
said,  with  haughty  dignity,  "ye  do  forget  of  late 
who  is  your  king.  Ye  seek  to  keep  from  me  the 
knowledge  of  weighty  matters  affecting  the  welfare 
of  my  realm.  This  must  not  be,  my  lords — this  must 
not  be,"  and  he  rapped  sharply  upon  the  table  with 
his  fist  while  his  cheeks  flushed  with  anger.  "Do 
ye  think  I  will  permit  such  disrespect?"  he  thun- 
dered. "It  is  my  mad-brained  son  doth  plan  such 
insults.  I'  faith,  methinks  that  he  giveth  ye  magic 
potions,  else  ye  would  never  have  such  love  for  him. 
He  rules  ye  by  a  glance,  and  ye  obey  his  slightest 
word  and  sign.  What!  will  ye  make  him  king  in 
very  fact?  In  mine  illness  will  ye  rob  me  of  the 
crown?  Oh,  shame  upon  you,  ye  ungrateful  men, 
and  double  shame  on  him  who  seeks  my  place, — who 
snatches  from  me  the  favor  of  my  people  and  seizes 
upon  every  royal  honor!" 

The  nobles  had  sprung  to  their  feet,  and  more 
than  one  brow  grew  dark  with  rage.  Winchester 
cried  hoarsely,  "Sire,  thou  wrongest  the  Prince  in 
word  and  thought, — he  is  thy  loyal  son  and  we  thy 
faithful  subjects." 

"Loyal !  Faithful !"  cried  the  King  bitterly,  "ay,  ye 
are  as  faithful  as  was  Northumberland,  and  he — " 


Every  Inch  a  King  17 

The  words  died  on  his  lips  and  an  expression  of 
dismay  and  chagrin  came  to  his  face.  The  nobles 
turned  as  one  man  and  a  cry  of  relief  and  joy 
escaped  from  the  bishop. 

Standing  in  the  doorway,  booted  and  spurred, 
with  whip  in  hand,  his  handsome  head  thrown  back, 
his  brown  eyes  alight  with  pleasure  and  excitement, 
was  the  Prince  of  Wales — a  goodly  picture  of  young 
manhood,  even  in  his  travel-stained  and  dusty  gar- 
ments. As  he  came  forward  and  bowed  low  before 
his  royal  father,  the  King's  eyes  softened  a  moment. 
"'Tis  long  since  I  have  seen  thee,  Harry,"  he  said. 

"It  is,  my  liege,"  answered  the  Prince  quickly, 
"and  'tis  still  longer  since  thou  wert  in  council.  I 
thank  God  that  thou  art  in  better  health." 

Bolingbroke  smiled  a  little  grimly,  then  took  his 
seat  and  motioned  to  the  others  to  do  likewise. 
When  all  were  in  their  places,  he  turned  to  the 
Prince,  who  sat  at  his  right  hand,  and  watching  him 
closely,  said,  with  apparent  carelessness, — "We  have 
awaited  thy  arrival,  Harry,  before  discussing  our 
most  important  measures,  and  we  are  now  prepared 
to  listen  to  thee." 

A  slight  expression  of  surprise  came  to  the 
Prince's  face,  and  he  glanced  inquiringly  at  Win- 
chester. The  bishop  shook  his  head  warningly,  and 
placed  his  finger  upon  his  lips.  Harry  understood, 
but  the  flush  which  came  to  his  cheeks,  and  the 
angry  light  which  shone  in  his  eyes,  drove  the  color 
from  the  churchman's  face.  "By  Heaven,"  he  mut- 


1 8  Every  Inch  a  King 

tered  underneath  his  breath,  "he  is  determined  that 
the  King  shall  know !" 

"My  gracious  lord  and  father,"  spoke  the  Prince, 
"hast  thou  been  advised  concerning  the  proposed 
alliance  with  Duke  John  ?" 

The  King  started  slightly, — this,  then,  was  the 
secret  they  had  guarded  with  such  care.  He 
answered  coldly, — "An  alliance  with  Burgundy? 
Why,  this  is  news  indeed.  No  man  hath  told  me  of 
it." 

The  Prince's  flush  deepened  as  if  he  felt  rebuked, 
but  he  responded  simply, — 

"I  thought  thou  knewest  it,  although  thou  wert 
too  ill  to  receive  the  ambassadors.  Wilt  please  thee 
to  listen  to  our  purposes?" 

"Say  on,  Prince  Harry." 

Bishop  Beaufort  and  the  treasurer,  Lord  Scrope, 
leaned  forward  eagerly  as  if  to  hear  each  word, 
while  the  Earl  of  Arundel,  veiling  his  vital  interest 
under  an  assumed  calm,  yet  watched  the  King  with 
quick,  expectant  eyes. 

The  Prince  hesitated  as  if  to  frame  his  words, 
then,  facing  his  father,  calmly  spoke : 

"My  liege,  thou  knowest  well  the  grave,  uncertain 
state  which,  day  by  day,  further  envelops  France. 
To  our  mind,  this  once  noble  kingdom  is,  even  now, 
so  torn  with  civil  strife,  that  it  can  ne'er  again  be- 
come united  and  in  peace.  It  seemeth  probable  that 
the  great  power  of  Burgundy  will,  ere  many  moons, 
conquer  this  warring  land  and  hold  her  subject. 


Every  Inch  a  King  19 

Therefore,  it  is  fit,  both  that  our  noble  country,  loving 
peace,  shall  help  the  inevitable  end  to  quick  con- 
clusion ;  and  furthermore,  that  we  retain  our  friend- 
ship with  the  conqueror.  Burgundy  hath  sent  to  us 
for  aid,  and  it  appeareth  the  part  of  wisdom  to  re- 
spond swiftly  and  favorably, — while  he  needeth  us. 
What  dost  thou  say  to  it,  my  noble  lord  ?" 

"Thou  wert  ever  a  most  excellent  reasoner, 
Prince,"  was  the  King's  reply. 

The  chancellor  rose :  "Nay,  but,  my  lord,  at  least 
thou  wilt  give  us  thy  advice.  We  place  before  thee 
such  a  policy  as  will  make  us  the  greatest  nation 
upon  earth.  Why,  think,  my  lord,  consider  the 
great  power  of  England's  arm,  and  yet,  'tis  still  no 
secret  that  we've  long  ere  this  had  cause  to  fear  the 
boldness  of  that  kingdom  which,  even  now,  threat- 
ens the  state  of  France.  The  duke  hath  sent  ambas- 
sadors to  plead  with  us,  and  if  we  scorn  them,  it  may 
be  our  ruin ;  yet,  go  we  two  together,  hand  in  hand, 
England  and  Burgundy  against  the  world,  allies, 
and  equal  sharers  of  the  lands  which  for  so  many 
years  false  France  has  holden  against  us  to  our 
shame, — what  future  would  be  too  great  or  difficult 
for  us?" 

"A  brilliant  dream,  Thomas,  by  my  faith," 
answered  the  King  coldly.  "Yet  why  wouldst  have 
us  give  up  half  our  rights,  when  we  should  gain 
them  all?" 

"How  wouldst  thou  have  us  win  them,  good  my 
lord?" 


2O  Every  Inch  a  King 

The  King  laughed  in  scorn.  "Methinks  them  art 
half-witted,  chancellor.  Give  France  our  aid  against 
bold  Burgundy,  and  ask  the  same  fair  lands  as  our 
reward." 

"To  which  of  the  several  parties  that  divide  the 
wretched  country  shall  we  offer  aid,  most  royal 
father?" 

The  King  was  silenced  for  a  space,  and  Winches- 
ter exchanged  a  triumphant  smile  with  the  Earl  of 
Suffolk.  But,  presently,  the  sovereign  asked :  "Why 
should  we  interfere  at  all,  my  lords?  Methinks  we 
shall  gain  most  by  looking  on  in  silence." 
•  "And  let  the  Duke  John  conquer  France  in  peace  ? 
Where,  then,  are  our  fair  lands,  my  gracious  liege?" 

The  King  frowned  at  his  son  and  tapped  the  table 
impatiently.  "I  would  my  lord  archbishop  were  in 
presence  here,"  he  muttered,  but  low  as  were  his 
words  they  escaped  not  the  quick  ear  of  Henry 
Beaufort,  the  doughty  bishop  of  Winchester. 

"Thou  forgettest,  sire,"  he  cried  hotly,  "that 
Arundel  is  no  longer  a  member  of  this  council,  nor 
do  I  comprehend  why  he  should  give  advice  upon 
such  weighty  matters  of  policy." 

"We  know  full  well,  lord  bishop,"  replied  the 
King,  "how  deeply  thou  and  our  brother  chancellor 
do  hate  this  same  archbishop  Arundel.  'Tis  not 
needful  that  ye  show  your  hatred  here." 

"Nor  is  it  needful,"  came  the  chancellor's  sullen 
voice,  "that  since  we  rule  in  name,  still  he  should 
verily  rule  in  fact." 


Every  Inch  a  King  2  i 

"Nay,  my  lord,  my  lord,"  cried  the  Prince  hastily, 
half  rising  from  his  seat,  "I  prithee,  peace.  My 
liege,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  King,  "we  were 
discussing  our  French  matters.  Duke  John,  we 
learn,  being  about  to  advance,  even  to  Paris  itself, 
with  a  large  force,  it  seemeth  the  part  of  wisdom 
to  conclude  whatever  treaty  is  proposed,  with  haste, 
that  at  this  critical  time  our  friendship  may  be  so 
much  more  welcome  to  proud  Burgundy.  There- 
fore, I  do  beseech  thee,  let  us  make  decision  with  all 
speed.  Will  it  please  your  Highness  to  give  this 
matter  your  approval?" 

"Not  yet,  Prince  Harry,"  and  the  King  smiled  in 
spite  of  his  annoyance,  at  his  son's  persistence. 
"Even  without  the  counsel  of  Arundel,  we  will  yet 
presume  to  question  somewhat  farther  ere  we  do 
give  consent."  Then,  addressing  the  noblemen,  he 
said  impressively:  "The  arguments  ye  use  are 
strong,  yet  ye  have  not  remedied  a  chief  great  weak- 
ness. Ye  know  full  well  how  ofttimes  treacherous 
are  the  rulers  of  great  countries.  Ye  would  offer 
help  to  Burgundy.  He'll  sure  accept  it.  He  pledges 
himself  to  you  to  share  his  conquests.  Now,  after 
that  we've  helped  him  with  our  arms,  how,  save  by 
cruel  war,  shall  we  compel  the  fulfilment  of  his 
pledge?  Ha!  What  say  ye,  lords?  Can  ye  answer 
this?" 

The  nobles  hesitated,  and  each  in  turn,  as  the  King 
sought  their  eyes,  looked  to  Beaufort  for  answer. 
But  the  bishop,  in  some  confusion,  could  only 


22  Every  Inch  a  King 

enlarge  upon  England's  mighty  strength  and  Bur- 
gundy's sure,  honorable  gratitude. 

It  was  a  moment  of  triumph  for  the  King,  and  his 
delight  showed  plainly  in  his  voice  as  he  said  to  his 
son:  "What,  Harry,  art  thou  still  silent?  Hast  no 
more  arguments  that  will  convince  us  of  the  deep 
wisdom  of  thy  purposes?  Poor  boy,  thou  art  still 
young,  and  must  not  yet  hope  to  lead  nations  by  thy 
rash  desires  for  foreign  conquest  and  bold  alliances." 

The  Prince  flushed,  but  answered  very  calmly,  "I 
am  not  silenced  yet,  my  gracious  lord,  but  would 
propose  one  other  measure  ere  we  decide  this  matter. 
Will  't  please  thee  hear  me  ?" 

"Speak,"  muttered  the  King,  dismayed  by  the  cer- 
tainty in  his  son's  tone. 

Prince  Harry  gazed  into  the  circle  of  eager  faces 
filled  with  anxiety,  and,  by  his  quiet  smile,  restored 
entire  confidence  to  them  all.  Then,  deliberately, 
yet  with  the  reverence  he  always  showed  his  father, 
he  answered : 

"Your  Highness  asketh  what  manner  of  control 
we  shall  have  over  Burgundy  when  the  fighting 
ends.  Thou  art  right,  my  liege,  this  is  a  vital  point ; 
and  without  some  more  certain  hold  than  the  duke's 
pledge,  we're  like  to  have  no  honors  but  the  war. 
Therefore,  my  lord,  let  Burgundy,  with  speed,  send 
us,  as  he  has  proposed,  his  daughter;  and  when  she 
is  wed  unto  the  Prince  of  Wales — the  future  King — 
methinks  her  father  will  not  then  decline  to  give  to 
England  all  that  she  may  ask." 


Every  Inch  a  King  23 

An  instant's  silence  followed  Harry's  words,  and 
then  the  nobles  found  relief  from  their  doubts  and 
expression  of  their  satisfaction  in  a  low  cheer. 

The  Prince's  constant  opposition  to  the  different 
marriages  proposed  for  him  had  caused  the  council 
to  disregard  and  even  to  forget  this  suggestion  of 
the  duke's  ambassadors.  They  were,  therefore,  all 
the  more  delighted  when  Harry,  of  his  own  volition, 
declared  his  willingness  to  accede  to  it.  The  King, 
whose  constant  opposition  to  the  Prince's  policy  was 
caused  not  by  conviction,  but  by  an  unreasonable 
jealousy  of  his  gallant  son,  knew  himself  defeated, 
yet  he  would  not  yield. 

"So,  Prince,"  he  said,  "it  was  for  this  that  thou 
hast  persistently  refused  the  marriages  that  were 
our  wish.  How  often  have  we  sought  alliances, 
honorable  and  full  of  possibilities,  and  thou  hast 
coolly  answered, — 'I  will  not  wed  till  I  can  choose 
my  bride  to  please  myself.'  This  is  thy  choice — this 
the  result  of  all  our  labor.  Thou  wouldst  place  a  prin- 
cess of  the  House  of  Burgundy  upon  our  throne. 
Ay,  I  know  the  reason  for  it, — thou  hast  heard  that 
she  hath  beauty,  grace,  perchance,  and  smiles  for  all 
young  gallants  who  will  woo  her  rightly,  and  for 
her  smile  thou  wouldst  sacrifice  thy  countrymen  in 
war!  Well,  have  it  as  thou  wilt.  I'll  not  contend 
against  such  folly  longer.  Only,  sir,  remember, 
when  thou  hast  won  this  woman,  and  lost  all  else, 
that  hadst  thou  married  Denmark's  daughter,  as  we 
wished,  or  even  her  of  France,  the  issue  of  the  right- 


24  Every  Inch  a  King 

ful  king,  poor  Charles,  the  power  of  this,  our  coun- 
try, might  have  been  tenfold  the  greater." 

"Nay,  my  lord,"  humbly  replied  the  Prince,  "it 
then  appeared  but  little  part  of  wisdom  to  become 
allied  with  either  of  these  houses;  and  this  present 
union  is  not  my  desire;  yet  I  sacrifice  myself  most 
gladly  for  my  country's  Vantage." 

"Thou  sacrificest  thyself  gladly?  Dost  thou  in- 
deed !  Then  prove  thy  willingness  to  serve  our  Eng- 
land, Harry,  by  thrusting  off  thy  vile  companions, 
curbing  thy  loose  life,  and  living  as  the  Prince  of 
Wales  should  live.  What  sayest  thou  to  this,  ha !" 

So  cruel  a  thrust  brought  the  vivid  color  to  the 
Prince's  cheeks,  yet  with  an  upraised  hand  and  a 
quick  glance  he  stayed  the  indignant  mutterings 
among  the  nobles,  and  answered  gently, — "At  a 
more  convenient  time,  I  shall  endeavor  to  win  better 
opinions  of  your  Highness  than  thou  now  holdest  of 
me.  Yet  let  me  plead  for  haste  in  public  matters, 
for  the  hour  grows  late.  Have  we  convinced  your 
Grace  that  it  is  wisdom  to  seek  for  an  alliance  with 
Duke  John?" 

Infuriated  by  the  Prince's  persistence,  and  his  ill- 
ness suddenly  attacking  him,  the  King  lost  his  won- 
derful self-control  and  leapt  to  his  feet,  crying  hotly : 
"Thou  perverse,  rebellious,  unnatural  son,  head- 
strong and  proud,  ever  seeking  thine  own  advantage, 
wouldst  even  force  me  to  give  my  consent  to  such  a 
measure?  Thou  takest  my  honors  from  me  and 
dost  rule  as  if  thou  verily  wert  the  king,  not  I.  By 


Every  Inch  a  King  25 

Heaven,  can  I  but  regain  my  strength,  and  rid  me 
of  this  grievous  wasting  sickness,  I'll  strip  thee  of 
thy  undeserved  powers  and  show  thee  that  the  day 
of  reckoning  comes  to  such  a  one  as  thou  when  he 
least  looks  for  't.  And  then,  thou  traitor — " 

Even  as  the  nobles  sprang  to  their  feet  in  angry 
protest,  and  the  Prince  sought  desperately  to  prevent 
an  outbreak,  the  words  died  on  the  King's  lips,  his 
face  grew  very  white,  his  hands  beat  the  air  wildly 
and  he  staggered  back  and  fell  heavily  into  the  out- 
stretched arms  of  his  son. 

Harry's  voice  broke  the  sudden  silence :  "Will  no 
one  aid  me,  lords  ?  Bethink  ye  this  is  a  heavy  weight 
to  bear  alone."  Then  as  each  one  moved  quickly 
forward,  he  added  swiftly,  "Lord  Scrope,  thou 
mayst  help  me.  We'll  bear  him  to  his  chamber  and 
will  straight  return.  Await  us  here,  my  lords." 

Freed  from  the  restraint  of  the  Prince's  presence, 
the  nobles  gave  way  to  their  indignation,  and  de- 
nounced the  King's  conduct  in  no  uncertain  manner. 

"'Tis  an  outrage  upon  us  all,"  cried  the  hot- 
headed Earl  of  Arundel.  "Never  was  there  a  more 
noble  son  than  this  same  prince.  Look  how  he  has 
quieted  our  every  protest ;  borne  the  King's  calumny 
with  meek  humility,  and  never  once  has  failed  to 
show  him  all  obedience  and  respect.  And  this  is  his 
reward!  Zounds!  Would  the  Prince  but  let  me 
speak  my  mind  upon  this  matter,  I'd  throw  defiance 
in  King  Henry's  teeth." 

"That  he'll  not,"  said  Henry  Beaufort,  smiling, 


26  Every  Inch  a  King 

"but  yestere'en  I,  even  I,  his  uncle,  ventured  some 
slight  remonstrance  with  my  royal  brother,  and 
when  the  Prince  heard  I  had  taken  his  part,  he 
sought  me  out  and  sternly  told  me  he'd  have  none  of 
it.  I  would  all  sons  showed  like  obedience." 

"But,"  spoke  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  "I  vow  I'm 
wearied  of  this  same  humility.  Must  we  forever 
bow  our  necks  before  this  king  who  is  too  ill  even  to 
know  his  mind  ?  The  Prince  has  ruled,  in  fact,  these 
many  months,  and  never  has  our  England  had  a 
head  more  upright  and  more  just.  I'  faith,  my 
lords,  'tis  time  the  Prince  received  the  honors  and 
the  power,  besides  the  labor." 

"Lord  Suffolk,  this  were  treason,"  cried  a  voice; 
and  Gascoigne,  the  lord  chief  justice,  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  earl's  arm.  "Surely,  my  lord,  thou 
wouldst  not  go  so  far  ?  We  all  do  love  our  gallant, 
wayward  Prince — but  to  dethrone  the  King — " 

"Saidst  thou  'wayward'?"  cried  Arundel,  hotly, 
and  his  hand  went  instantly  to  his  sword-hilt,  "my 
lord,  thou  must  retract  that  word  of  thine." 

The  lord  chief  justice  raised  his  hand  in  protest. 
"Nay,  but,  my  lord,  thou  wilt  be  reasonable.  Canst 
thou  deny  that  the  young  Prince's  friends  are 
strangely  chosen,  for  one  of  his  condition  ?" 

"What  friends,  my  lord?  Dost  thou  mean  Lord 
Scrope,  or  is  it  to  me  that  thou  dost  object?" 

Sir  William  smiled  a  little.  "Nay,  Lord  Thomas, 
thou  knowest  well  whom  I  do  mean.  My  lords,"  and 
the  judge  looked  questioningly  upon  the  others  pres- 


Every  Inch  a  King  27 

ent,  "will  ye  not  bear  me  out?  Dost  not  the  King 
say  well  when  he  reproves  the  Prince  for  these  same 
loose  companions,  who  are  his  intimates?  Surely 
they  are  not  fit  associates  for  the  throne's  heir." 

"Mayhap  not,"  answered  the  chancellor,  "yet  hast 
thou  ever  known  their  counsel  to  make  the  Prince 
do  wrong?  Is  he  less  earnest  o'er  affairs  of  state? 
Does  he  neglect  his  duties  at  Calais  ?  Or  is  he  now 
less  wise  than  was  his  wont  in  shaping  policies  of 
government  ?" 

"None  of  these  things  can  I  here  charge  him 
with,"  answered  the  chief  justice,  "yet  I  would  will- 
ingly see  him  end  all  danger  of  such  wrong." 

"I  cannot  chide  him  for  this  slight  fault,"  spoke 
up  the  bishop,  "but  methinks  the  King  is  much  to 
blame  for  even  this." 

"Ay,  he  is,"  Arundel  interrupted;  "if  Prince 
Harry  did  have  the  favor  of  the  court,  as  he  de- 
serves, we'd  sure  hear  less  about  these  same  com- 
panions and  their  influence.  I  do  know  the  Prince 
is  wronged,  and  could  I  prove  his  nobleness  upon 
my  sword — " 

"Peace,  here  he  comes." 

And  at  that  moment  Harry  entered  hurriedly,  a 
look  of  deep  anxiety  upon  his  face.  "My  lords,"  he 
cried,  "I  know  not  what  to  do.  My  liege  is  not 
recovered,  and  it  may  be  long  ere  he  can  give  me 
counsel.  This  question  of  alliance  cannot  wait,  for 
time  will  make  it  valueless  and  vain.  Lord  Scrope 
would  have  us  begin  negotiations  without  the  King's 


28  Every  Inch  a  King 

consent,  yet  I  do  hesitate.  My  lord  chief  justice, 
we  know  thy  wisdom  well ;  prithee  advise  us  how  we 
shall  proceed." 

The  bishop  wondered  to  hear  the  Prince  turn  to  that 
counsellor  most  likely  to  oppose  him,  but  Harry  knew 
full  well  that  all  the  others,  either  out  of  personal 
love  for  him  or  hate  of  the  archbishop,  the  King's 
friend,  could  not  advise  him  fairly ;  while  Gascoigne, 
noble,  upright  and  dispassionate,  swayed  by  no  per- 
sonal feelings  in  the  matter,  belonging  to  neither  of 
the  rival  parties,  would  reason  wisely  and  give  his 
counsel  freely  and  boldly  without  fear  or  favor. 

So,  when  Sir  William,  after  some  moments' 
thought,  answered :  "It  seemeth  best  to  me  that  we 
should,  without  delay,  form  this  alliance  with  the 
power  of  Burgundy,"  Harry  was  content;  and  ere 
an  hour  had  passed  all  plans  had  been  completed, 
and  the  Earl  of  Arundel,  chosen  by  the  Prince  as  his 
chief  ambassador,  had  received  full  instructions  for 
his  duties,  and  had  departed  to  prepare  for  the  long 
journey. 

The  council  ended  quietly,  but  when  the  Prince 
bade  them,  at  last,  good-night,  and  left  the  cham- 
ber, Bishop  Beaufort  laid  a  hand  upon  Lord  Suf- 
folk's arm,  and  whispered  softly, — "I  have  that  to 
propose  to  thee,  my  lord,  which  will  meet  thy  ac- 
ceptance. Assemble  the  chiefs  of  our  party  at  my 
London  palace  on  Thursday  week.  Thou  dost  guess 
my  purpose,  but  breathe  no  word  of  it,  for  walls 
and  trees  are  well  supplied  with  ears !" 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Andronicus,  would  thou  wert  shipp'd  to  hell, 
Rather  than  rob  me  of  the  people's  hearts." 

TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 

UPON  leaving  the  lords,  the  Prince  at  once  sought 
his  father's  apartment,  and  there  found  the  King  al- 
ready dressed  in  night  apparel,  and  lying  upon  his 
couch,  while  Richard  de  Beauchamp,  Earl  of  War- 
wick, attended  him. 

The  sick  man  turned  restlessly,  and  frowned,  as 
his  son  came  forward  and  made  a  deep  obeisance. 

"What,  hast  thou  left  the  Council  Chamber, 
Harry?  And  why  dost  thou  come  here?  Wouldst 
thou  have  me  troubled  by  thy  plans  and  hopes  ?" 

"Methought  your  Highness  would  desire  a  brief 
account  of  all  that  hath  been  accomplished." 

"And  wherefore  should  I  wish  to  hear  of  it  ?  My 
Lord  of  Warwick,  we  give  you  leave,  but  go  not 
farther  than  the  outer  room." 

The  Earl  withdrew  and  the  Prince  took  his  vacant 
seat.  The  King  continued  coldly :  "I  oft  do  won- 
der, Harry,  at  the  consideration  thou  dost  show 
where  there  is  no  need  of  it.  Have  they  not  all  de- 
cided as  ye  wished  ?  Will  not  ye  form  alliance  with 
the  duke?" 

"We  so  decided,  sire,"  began  the  Prince;  but  the 
King  interrupted : 


30  Every  Inch  a  King 

"Why,  thus  it  is — said  I  not  thou  wouldst  have 
thy  way?  Then,  wherefore  hast  thou  come  to  tell 
me  of  it?" 

"My  liege,  we  are  thy  council,  and  are  bound  in 
honor  to  perform  that  policy  which  seemeth  best 
to  us.  If  thou  considerest  that  we  do  our  country 
wrong,  thou  shouldst  dismiss  us  from  the  govern- 
ment But,  if  not,  then  I  do  beseech  thee,  give  us 
thy  support." 

"Nay,"  said  the  King  hastily,  "I  know  not  that 
what  ye  propose  is  wrong ;  what  likes  me  not  is  that 
'tis  not  their  judgment,  but  their  affection  for  thy 
person,  Harry,  which  wins  these  nobles  ever  to  thy 
wishes.  Tis  not  the  part  of  wisdom,  when  a  coun- 
try makes  war  because  its  prince  is  fair  of  feature." 

The  young  man  bit  his  lip,  thinking  of  how  he 
had  asked  Gascoigne's  counsel,  while  knowing  that 
the  judge  regarded  him  with  little  favor.  But  al- 
though quick  to  justify  his  friends,  he  ever  hesitated 
to  defend  himself  before  his  father,  so  only 
answered  humbly :  "I  do  assure  thee,  sire,  that  thou 
dost  mistake.  They,  every  one,  consider  this  alli- 
ance to  be  the  fountain  of  the  greatest  good  unto 
our  England.  Therefore,  prithee,  grant  us  thy  ap- 
proval; for,  if  thou  dost  deny  it,  I  must  yield  unto 
my  sovereign's  wishes  in  this  matter.  And,  believe 
me,  sire,  'tis  a  policy  that  cannot  be  lightly  tossed 
unto  one  side  without  much  loss.  Wilt  thou  not 
consent  ?" 

The  King  made  an  impatient  motion  with  his 


Every  Inch  a  King  3 1 

hand.  "Why  dost  thou  trouble  me?  The  thing  is 
done." 

"Not  so,  my  liege;  the  council  are  agreed,  and  our 
arrangements,  for  the  nonce,  complete;  yet,  if  thou 
bidst  me,  we  will  stay  our  hand.  What  wouldst  thou 
have  us  do,  my  gracious  liege  ?" 

With  the  responsibility  thus  thrown  upon  him,  the 
King  turned  irritably  upon  his  pillow,  and  answered 
with  annoyance:  "I  am  too  ill  to  trouble  with  the 
matter.  Make  what  treaty  ye  desire.  'Twill  be  thy 
deed,  not  mine;  and  if  results  are  evil,  thou  mayst 
bear  the  blame.  And  now,  that  thou  hast  wrung 
consent  from  me,  prithee  depart  the  chamber  and  be 
gone." 

Sadly  the  Prince  arose  and  came  near  the  couch. 
"Sire,  what  have  men  told  thee,  that  hath  caused 
thee  to  judge  me  so  unworthy  of  thy  love?  I  am 
thy  son,  and  when  thou  liest  ill,  my  place  is  here  be- 
side thee.  Why  is  it  that  thou  wilt  not  ever  let  me 
stay?" 

A  heavy  frown  gathered  upon  the  King's  brow,  as 
he  answered :  "Thou  wilt  provoke  me  presently  to 
wrath.  Have  done  with  pretence,  Harry;  thou 
knowest  well  what  an  unnatural  son  thou  art  to  me. 
Nor  shouldst  thou  wonder  at  my  present  coldness 
when  thou  dost  never  give  me  a  kind  word  save 
when  thou  desirest  some  favor  in  return.  What 
wouldst  thou  to-day,  that  thou  remainest?  Speak, 
and  be  gone.  My  patience  is  fast  oozing  from  my 
finger-tips." 


32  Every  Inch  a  King 

The  Prince  sank  on  one  knee  beside  the  bed. 
"Sire,  I  do  beseech  thee,  hearken  to  me.  Thou  dost 
misjudge  me  cruelly.  I  vow  I  wish  for  nothing  save 
to  be  near  thee  in  thy  present  illness.  Your  High- 
ness knows — " 

"I  know  that  thou  art  false,"  cried  the  King  hotly, 
raising  on  one  elbow, — "hence  from  my  side,  and  get 
thee  gone  to  London.  There  shalt  thou  find  com- 
panions nobly  fit  for  that  base  living  which  sullies 
thy  bright  name.  Dost  think  I  can  believe  thee 
when  thou  sayest  thy  heart's  desire  is  to  linger  here, 
instead  of  carrying  on  thy  drunken  revels  with  Fal- 
staff,  Poins,  and  other  of  thy  fellows?  Nay,  I  be- 
lieve thee  not;  nor  will  I  listen  longer  to  thy  pro- 
tests. Call  me  my  Lord  of  Warwick,  and  depart." 

With  a  deep  sigh,  the  Prince  rose  to  his  feet, 
kissed  the  reluctant  hand  held  out  to  him,  and  left 
the  chamber. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"Before  God,  I  am  exceeding  weary." 

SHAKESPEARE — HENRY  IV. 

HAVING  summoned  the  earl,  Prince  Harry  took 
a  torch  from  an  attendant's  hand,  and,  although  the 
hour  was  late,  did  not  seek  his  couch,  but  hastily 
traversed  numerous  dark  passages  until  he  reached 
another  and  distant  part  of  the  castle.  Pausing  just 
long  enough  to  give  the  countersign  to  an  armed 
guard,  the  Prince  entered  a  narrow  doorway,  passed 
down  a  long  antechamber  and  rapped  sharply  with 
his  sword-hilt  against  a  heavy  oaken  door  thickly 
studded  with  iron  nails. 

At  first,  there  was  no  response;  but  finally,  after 
repeated  knockings,  a  voice  answered;  footsteps 
were  heard  upon  the  crackling  rushes  of  the  floor, 
the  bolts  shot  back  and  the  ponderous  door  swung 
wide,  revealing  a  large  chamber,  almost  bare  of  fur- 
niture save  for  a  couch  covered  with  silken  robes  and 
cushions,  an  oaken  table,  and  some  heavy  chests, 
richly  carved,  which  served  alike  for  seats  and  for 
repositories.  The  walls  were  hung  with  tapestries, 
and  high  vaulted  windows  admitted  a  faint  gleam  of 
moonlight.  The  dying  embers  of  a  fire  cast  a  weird 
light  upon  the  black  woodwork,  seeming  only  to  in- 
crease the  gloom. 

Standing  in  the  doorway  was  a  man  of  scarce 


34  Every  Inch  a  King 

twenty  years,  tall  of  person  and  with  a  certain  proud 
nobility  in  his  bearing  which  betokened  his  high 
rank.  He  was  dressed  in  a  loose  nightrobe  of  fine 
silk,  and  in  the  flickering,  uncertain  light  cast  by  the 
torch,  his  face  was  seen  to  be  one  of  surpassing 
sweetness,  showing  a  nature  more  lovable  than  pow- 
erful. Every  feature  was  clear-cut  and  delicate  in 
outline,  and  no  beard  marred  his  beauty.  His  lux- 
urious brown  hair  fell  about  his  shoulders,  and  his 
brown  eyes,  although  heavy  with  sleep,  betrayed  the 
depth  and  earnestness  of  his  nature.  With  a  slight 
trace  of  indignation  in  his  gentle  voice,  he  asked: 
"Who  is  it  that  disturbs  my  slumber  at  this  unseemly 
hour,  and  what's  your  will  that  you  must  arouse  me 
thus?" 

"A  friend,  who  seeks  the  shelter  of  thy  hearth." 

"My  lord,  the  Prince,"  cried  the  young  man  joy- 
fully, and  would  have  knelt,  but  Harry  raised  him 
up  and  embraced  him  like  a  brother. 

"Nay,  let  us  in,  and  bolt  the  door  behind  us.  I 
will  not  keep  thee  long."  And  the  Prince  lighted 
several  candles  with  his  torch,  and  then  turned 
toward  his  host.  "Edmund,  'tis  cruel  thus  to  break 
into  thy  rest,  but  I  must  away  at  sunrise,  and  longed 
to  see  thee  ere  I  left  this  place.  Hast  any  food? 
'Tis  many  hours  since  I  did  break  my  fast." 

Silently,  Lord  Mortimer,  the  fifth  of  his  line  to 
bear  the  title  of  the  Earl  of  March,  placed  wine  and 
meat  before  his  royal  guest.  Two  years  before,  the 
young  prisoner  had  been  placed  under  the  personal 


Every  Inch  a  King  35 

charge  of  the  Prince,  and,  unknown  to  the  King  or 
any  of  the  court,  a  friendship  had  sprung  up  be- 
tween them,  founded  on  mutual  sympathy  and  re- 
spect, the  depth  of  which  neither  of  them  realized. 
When  the  Prince  had  hurriedly  refreshed  himself, 
he  bade  the  earl  sit  beside  him  on  the  couch.  "It  is 
three  months  since  I  did  see  thee  last.  Hast  thou 
been  well?" 

"Ay,  my  lord,  but  often  lonesome  for  thee.  When 
didst  thou  come  to  Windsor  ?" 

"Some  four  hours  since.  And  may  I  never  pass 
four  other  hours  as  miserable  as  these  have  been. 
Edmund,  I  could  wish  to  die  to-night." 

The  earl  started.  Well  as  he  knew  the  Prince — 
and  he  had  been  with  him  in  many  moods — he  never 
before  had  heard  him  speak  one  word  that  came  not 
from  his  overflowing  spirits  of  cheerfulness  and 
warm  affection.  By  the  dim  light  he  saw  that  the 
Prince  was  pale,  and  every  line  showed  an  extreme 
fatigue  of  mind  and  body. 

"What  is  it  they  have  done  to  thee,"  he  cried, 
"that  hath  driven  the  color  from  thy  gentle  cheeks  ? 
By  Heaven,  my  lord,  but  thou  art  greatly  changed." 

"I  have  had  much  to  make  me  suffer,  Edmund, 
but  I'll  not  burden  thee  with  all  my  troubles.  Let  it 
suffice,  the  King,  my  father,  hates  me,  and  doth  be- 
lieve that  I  would  sin  against  him.  My  every 
smallest  action  is  examined  and  a  base  motive 
judged  for  each  and  all.  Oh,  if  he  would  but  put  me 
to  the  proof !  Enough  of  this !  Pray  tell  me  of  thy- 


36  Every  Inch  a  King 

self,  and  drive  these  gloomy  thoughts  away  from 
me." 

The  earl  was  kneeling  now  beside  the  couch  on 
which  the  Prince  had  thrown  himself,  exhausted. 
With  gentle  hands  he  smoothed  back  the  brown  hair, 
and  smiling  into  the  deeply  earnest  eyes,  said  softly, 
— "Prithee,  sleep,  my  lord,  thou  needest  rest,  and  I 
will  watch  here  by  thee  for  the  night." 

"My  heart  is  heavy,  and  I  cannot  sleep.  Oh,  Ed- 
mund, didst  thou  know  my  weariness!  The  King, 
this  morning,  chose  to  hunt  at  Windsor,  and  so  the 
council  met  here,  afterward;  but  I  was  late,  having 
no  word  of  it  till  two  of  the  clock,  then  coming  hot 
from  London.  Thou  knowest  that  the  King  hath 
been  much  ill.  The  chase  had  brought  his  sickness 
back  again,  and  he  opposed  our  measures  fiercely, 
and  did  denounce  me  as  a  traitor  to  him — " 

"A  traitor,  lord !"  exclaimed  the  earl  hotly ;  "what 
is  this  folly  that  thou  sayest  ?  Even  the  King  would 
not  call  thee  a  traitor." 

"Dost  thou  not  believe  it  of  me  ?" 

"No,  on  my  soul !  They  lie  that  call  thee  that. 
And  if  there  came  a  dozen  witnesses  to  prove  it  to 
me,  I  still  would  say  they  lied  between  their  teeth. 
No  man  who's  looked  into  thine  eyes,  my  Prince, 
would  dare  to  call  thee  by  so  vile  a  name!  Oh, 
would  that  I  might  prove  it  with  my  sword !" 

The  Prince  laughed  softly  and  took  his  friend's 
hand  in  his.  "Ah,  Edmund,  I  thank  thee  for  those 
gracious  words !  As  for  the  King,  I  understand  my- 


Every  Inch  a  King  37 

self  hath  tried  him  sorely  in  his  present  illness; 
though  how,  i'  faith,  I  wot  not;  yet  when  he  doth 
oppose  our  policy,  and  give  as  his  reason,  because 
my  private  life  pleaseth  him  not — this  is  sure  not 
justice." 

"What  dost  thou  mean,  my  lord,  thy  private  life? 
Thou  art  free  from  even  thought  of  sin." 

The  Prince  dropped  his  eyes  and  a  faint  flush 
mantled  his  cheeks.  "No  man  is  pure  and  stainless, 
Mortimer;  my  father  speaks  of  those  men  of  Lon- 
don whom  I  do  choose  to  call  my  intimates.  He 
likes  them  not — and  I  do  perceive  that  thou  too  wilt 
condemn  me  for  their  friendship." 

"They  should  not  have  thy  fellowship,  my  lord; 
a  man  less  noble  than  thyself,  brave  Prince,  might 
use  them  without  fault ;  but  as  for  thee,  the  highest, 
noblest,  purest  in  the  land  is  but  scarce  worthy  to 
be  called  thy  friend." 

"Nay,  but,  my  Edmund,  there  thou  touchest  the 
point  where  my  defence  doth  lie."  And  the  Prince 
smiled  confidently  into  Lord  Mortimer's  grave  face. 
"I  need  these  comrades,  for  my  affections  must  find 
a  ready  channel  to  escape,  ere  they  do  smother  me. 
Thou  wouldst  that  I  should  have  the  very  noblest? 
Why,  so  would  I.  But  how,  if  it  cannot  be?  Two 
friends  have  I  at  court — Scrope  and  Arundel — they 
love  me  well ;  yet,  in  good  truth,  they  are  as  formal 
as  the  court  itself;  treat  me  with  all  the  ceremony 
that  my  state  demands,  and  scarce  do  dare  address 
me  save  on  the  nation's  business.  My  uncle  Beau- 


38  Every  Inch  a  King 

fort,  and  those  who  join  with  him  in  council,  know 
me  and  even  love  me, — as  the  Prince, — distrust  me, 
as  a  man.  Canst  thou  not  see  how  this  cold  disap- 
proval of  myself,  these  formal  greetings,  and  state 
ceremonies,  make  me  to  feel  that  such  men  are  no 
friends?  Then,  when  affairs  of  state  do  press  me 
down,  these  merry  London  men,  so  frank,  so  bold, 
so  ever  ready  with  a  song  or  jest,  even  if  it  some- 
times goes  too  far,  yet  stir  in  me  the  spirit  of  my 
youth ;  make  me  forget  my  state  and  live  with  joy  as 
simply  Harry  Monmouth,  not  the  Prince.  We're 
man  and  man  together,  nothing  else ;  and  even  now, 
I  cannot  think  that  there  is  any  wrong  in  these  com- 
panions. What  dost  thou  know  of  a  free,  merry 
life  ?  Nothing,  my  Edmund,  nor  do  many  men ;  but 
these  same  midnight  frolics  are  to  me  the  very  sauce 
of  life,  which  gives  me  courage  to  eat  in  patience 
the  good,  wholesome  food  of  unpleasant  duties  and 
formalities.  When  that  my  sword  is  constant  in  my 
hand,  or  every  hour  filled  up  with  stern  necessity  for 
action,  then  I  am  content;  but,  at  other  times,  I 
need  the  play  to  help  me  with  the  work." 

In  his  earnestness,  the  Prince  had  risen  and  paced 
the  apartment  with  restless  steps.  Now  he  stopped 
before  his  friend,  and  looking  appealingly  into  his 
face,  said  gravely :  "I  have  spoke  thus  far  to  justify 
my  actions  to  thyself ;  for  thou  alone,  dear  Edmund, 
dost  know  the  contents  of  my  heart's  most  secret 
chambers.  I  would  not  have  thee  think  me  so  un- 
worthy as  men  do  picture  me." 


Every  Inch  a  King  39 

The  earl,  with  a  quiet,  trustful  smile,  raised  the 
Prince's  hand  to  his  lips,  as  he  replied,  "Sweet  lord, 
I  do  believe  thee  guiltless  of  every  wrong.  But  me- 
thinks  there  is  some  other  sorrow  in  thy  breast  than 
these  misjudgments  cause.  I  prithee,  tell  it  me,  and 
let  me  give  what  comfort  to  thee  lies  within  my 
power." 

"Thou  shalt  know,  Edmund,"  cried  the  Prince 
impulsively.  "Thou  art  a  lover  and  canst  under- 
stand the  anxious  feelings  of  my  lover's  heart." 

The  earl  started.  "What !  Art  thou  a  lover — my 
lord,  who  is  the  woman  that  thou  lovest?  Surely," 
he  faltered,  "she's  not  found  in  London?" 

The  Prince  flushed  deeply.  "Is't  possible  that  thou 
dost  know  me  well,  and  yet  dost  judge  me  guilty  of 
so  great  a  wrong  as  this?  I'll  love  no  maid  who 
cannot  be  my  queen." 

"Nay,  forgive  me,  that  I  even  thought  to  doubt 
thee,"  pleaded  Mortimer.  "I  know  thy  purity,  my 
noble  Prince.  Ah,  would  to  God,  that  all  men  were  as 
pure !  Who  is  the  lady  that  thou  soon  shalt  wed  ?" 

A  sudden  remembrance  of  his  passionate  state- 
ment, and  all  it  meant,  made  the  Prince  tremble,  and 
for  very  shame  turn  his  head  away  from  the  earl's 
gaze.  "Edmund,  I  fear  me,  that  in  my  great  haste  I 
have  made  a  vow  to  thee  that  is  already  broken.  Yet, 
when  thou  hast  heard  all,  thou  wilt  pardon  me.  As 
thou  art  a  lover,  look  on  this  and  tell  me  if  she  be 
not  worth  a  prince's  love." 

He  drew  from  his  bosom  a  piece  of  heavy  vellum 


40  Every  Inch  a  King 

and  placed  it  in  the  earl's  hands.  Mortimer  swiftly 
crossed  to  where  the  candles  burned  dimly  in  their 
silver  candlesticks,  and  gazed  long  and  eagerly  upon 
the  painting  there. 

A  young  girl's  face  smiled  at  him  with  a  smile  so 
tender,  so  wistful,  so  full  of  love  and  longing,  that 
Mortimer's  hand  trembled  with  quick  emotion.  She 
was  very  young,  yet  gave  promise  of  a  radiant 
beauty.  The  delicate  outlines  of  her  oval-shaped 
face,  the  high,  broad  forehead,  the  waving  hair,  the 
small,  exquisitely  cut  mouth,  and  the  sweet  and 
gentle  expression,  all  fascinated  one  with  an  in- 
describable charm;  yet  her  deep,  lustrous  eyes, 
touched  with  a  certain  melancholy,  showed  the  pure 
and  fearless  soul  beneath  the  beauty. 

Not  that  Lord  Mortimer  perceived  all  of  this  at 
once,  nor,  indeed,  would  most  men  have  discovered 
it  within  that  by  no  means  perfect  picture.  But  the 
Prince,  a  first  love  stirring  in  his  heart,  seeing  all 
this,  and  more,  had  given  the  sweet  face  every  at- 
tribute of  a  goddess  among  women.  Nor  would  he 
rest  until  the  earl  agreed  that  a  noble  character  was 
painted  there. 

"Is  she  not  glorious  ?  My  blood  doth  throb  with 
every  heart-beat  when  I  look  upon  that  beauteous 
face."  So  spoke  the  Prince,  and  seizing  again  the 
picture  from  the  earl's  hand,  he  pressed  it  hotly  to 
his  lips,  then  swiftly  placed  it  again  within  his 
bosom. 


Every  Inch  a  King  41 

"Who  is  this  lady?"  demanded  the  astonished 
nobleman. 

"Who  is  she  but  a  princess ;  a  queen,  indeed ;  my 
queen,  and  England's,  ere  the  year  be  passed.  Oh, 
God,  would  that  it  could  be  thus !" 

The  sudden  agony  of  despair  in  the  clear  voice 
brought  the  earl  swiftly  to  the  couch  upon  which 
Harry  had  thrown  himself  again. 

"My  lord,  open  thy  heart  to  me.  This  lady, — i' 
faith,  but  I  could  love  her  too  upon  one  look  at  yon- 
der drawing  of  her — hast  thou  seen  her?  Is  she 
of  noble  birth?  And  will  she  wed  the  greatest 
prince  in  Christendom  ?" 

Harry  Monmouth  sat  for  a  moment  with  his  head 
bowed  in  his  hands,  despair  written  upon  every 
feature.  Then  with  a  little  start,  he  raised  his  head 
proudly  and  looked  into  the  earl's  eyes  with  firm, 
determined  gaze.  "Edmund,"  he  answered,  "I  did 
forget  myself, — that  face  doth  make  me  mad  with 
unreasonable  passion,  nor  have  I  yet  succeeded  in 
driving  these  hurtful  feelings  from  my  heart.  Thou 
askest  of  the  maiden — I  have  never  seen  her,  nor  do 
I  know  aught  of  her  save  that  she  attendeth  upon 
France's  most  mighty  queen.  The  painter  of  my 
precious  miniature  knew  her  and  loved  her  and — 
broke  his  vows  as  a  monk  for  her  sake.  He  fled  to 
Calais,  and  there  died  in  my  arms." 

Mortimer,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  shining  eyes, 
gazed  into  the  Prince's  face.  "And  thou  dost  love 


42  Every  Inch  a  King 

her,  never  having  seen  her?  And  he  who  was  thy 
rival  is  now  dead?  Ah,  my  lord,  how  glad  I  am 
that  thou  canst  be  so  happy !" 

"For  God's  sake,  Edmund,  silence!"  cried  the 
Prince,  seizing  his  friend  almost  roughly  by  the 
shoulder.  "I  happy  ?  /  to  wed  where  my  poor  heart 
desireth?  Thou  forgettest  that  I  am  the  Prince  of 
Wales !  Oh,"  he  cried  bitterly,  "how  can  men  be  so 
blind  as  to  envy  a  prince  his  place?  Poor  fools! 
They  little  wot  the  misery  that  lies  behind  the 
power." 

He  clinched  his  hands  and  paced  the  floor  in 
anguish,  while  the  startled  earl  sat  motionless  and 
dumb  at  this  sudden  outbreak.  In  a  moment,  how- 
ever, Harry  had  regained  his  self-control,  and  seat- 
ing himself  by  his  friend's  side,  said  gravely,  "Ed- 
mund, forgive  me  for  my  harshness — even  the 
thought  of  happiness  tormented  me.  Listen.  I 
have  this  day  despatched  the  Earl  of  Arundel  to 
Burgundy.  He  is  accompanied  by  certain  com- 
panies of  soldiery  and  goeth  to  form  alliance  with 
Duke  John,  the  Fearless.  This  noble  duke  possesses 
a  noble  daughter,  and  I  do  seek  to  win  her  for  my 
bride." 

"But  she  whom  thou  dost  love?"  cried  the  amazed 
earl. 

"Ah,  Edmund,  what  have  I  to  do  with  love?" 
asked  the  Prince  sadly.  "I  can  wed  none  but  she 
who  is  my  equal  in  high  rank,  and  who  can  bring 
our  nation  a  proper  dower.  This  marriage  must  be 


Every  Inch  a  King  43 

made  for  England's  good,  and  I  must  burn  this 
picture  and  root  out  that  longing  which  hath  entered 
my  weak  heart.  Edmund,  never  speak  to  me  of 
happiness !" 

The  earl,  deeply  troubled  by  the  suffering  in  the 
Prince's  face, — a  suffering  intensified  by  the  memory 
of  the  King's  taunts  about  his  motives  for  desiring 
the  present  union — used  his  utmost  endeavors  to 
soothe  his  troubled  guest,  and  at  length  the  Prince, 
wearied  by  the  events  of  the  day,  and  his  heart 
lighter  since  he  had  told  his  troubles  to  his  ever- 
ready  confidant  and  friend,  begged  the  earl  to  share 
the  narrow  couch,  and  in  a  moment  the  two  young 
men  had  gone  together  to  the  land  of  dreams. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"Best  friend,  my  well-spring  in  the  wilderness." 

GEORGE  ELIOT. 

WHEN  the  first  rays  of  light  entered  the  high,  un- 
shaded windows,  the  Prince  sprang  up,  and  would 
have  softly  left  the  earl's  room,  but  Mortimer  awoke 
and  begged  him  eagerly  to  stay. 

"Thou  sure  wilt  break  thy  fast  with  me,  my  lord ; 
we  have  not  been  together  for  so  long,  and  there  lie 
upon  my  tongue  a  thousand  questions,  which,  for 
thy  weariness,  I  dared  not  ask  when  thou  didst  come 
to  me  so  late  last  night." 

The  Prince  hesitated,  desire  battling  against  duty 
in  his  heart,  then  yielded  with  a  smile.  "I  must  be 
gone  to  London  in  an  hour,  but  there  is  much  that  I 
may  know  of  thee  before  the  glass  runs  out.  Tell 
me,  first,  hast  seen  the  Lady  Anne  again,  my  lord  ?" 

The  bright  color  flashed  into  the  earl's  cheeks, 
and,  pushing  aside  a  piece  of  tapestry,  he  opened  a 
small  door,  showing  a  garden  charming  in  the  early 
morning  light 

"Seest  thou  these  roses,  good  my  lord?  But  one 
week  since  she  hunted  with  the  court  in  Windsor 
Forest,  and  ere  it  was  dusk  stole  from  her  cham- 
ber to  wander  here  alone.  I  had  op'ed  my  door 
to  feel  the  cool  night  breezes  from  the  south,  and, 
behold,  there  was  a  vision  all  of  white  and  gold. 


Every  Inch  a  King  45 

Her  robe  as  pure  as  lilies  of  the  field,  the  last  red 
sunbeams  falling  on  her  hair  and  clothing  her  with 
such  a  radiance  that  mine  eyes  were  dazzled  by  the 
beauty  of  it.  A  moment  did  she  stand,  then  plucked 
a  rose ;  and,  all  unconscious  of  my  presence  near,  she 
sang  an  evening  hymn,  in  such  a  voice,  so  soft,  so 
gentle,  and  so  sweetly  pure,  as  sent  my  very  heart 
into  my  mouth  and  made  me  long  to  seize  her  in  my 
arms.  She  did  not  turn,  but  slowly  passed  away. 
And  I,  a  captive  fool,  could  only  stand  and  watch, 
longing  to  woo  her  ere  I  had  scarce  seen  her ;  yet,  in 
all  honor  bound  to  silent  love.  Oh,  my  good  lord, 
dost  thou  then  love  a  woman  and  still  wouldst  keep 
me  in  confinement  here?" 

Then  as  a  look  of  sorrow  and  reproach  came  into 
the  Prince's  face,  Mortimer  sprang  forward  and 
humbly  knelt  before  him. 

"Sweet  lord,  forgive  me,  for  I  meant  not  to  re- 
proach thee.  I  know  that  thou  dost  show  me  every 
kindness.  This  chamber  here  has  grown  to  be  a 
home;  and  for  my  raiment,  'tis  worthy  of  a  prince. 
Servants  attend  me  when  I  desire  service,  and  even 
thou  lettest  me  freely  breathe  the  air  and  wander  at 
my  will  in  yonder  garden,  on  my  plain  word  that  I 
will  hold  no  speech  with  any  whom  by  chance  I  may 
there  meet.  Mine  is  not  a  prisoner's  life,  my  lord, 
and  yet  I've  dared  to  blame  thee  for  thy  kindness. 
Canst  thou  forgive  me  such  ingratitude?" 

"Nay,  Edmund,  I  blame  thee  not,"  answered  the 
Prince  sadly.  "Thou  art  my  friend,  and  more  than 


46  Every  Inch  a  King 

any  man  hast  thou  received  my  love.  Gladly  would 
I  give  thee  freedom,  an'  I  could  do  so  with  any 
thought  of  honor.  But  when  my  father  gave  thee 
unto  me  to  guard  as  a  close  prisoner  of  state,  I 
pledged  my  word  and  life  to  keep  thee  safe.  Thou 
hast  not  forgotten  how  the  Duke  of  York,  and  his 
unnatural  sister,  Lady  Spencer,  so  artfully  stole  thee 
away  from  Windsor,  seeking  to  use  thee  as  a 
weapon  'gainst  my  father.  The  King  is  my  liege 
lord,  and  if  need  come,  I  would  give  my  life  to  guard 
for  him  the  throne.  Therefore,  since  thou  wert  put 
within  my  personal  charge,  my  honor  is  concerned 
to  keep  thee  fast.  And  if  thou  heldest  free  inter- 
course with  others,  how  could  I  guard  thee  then  ? 

"Nay,  Edmund,"  Harry  added  gently,  looking 
into  his  friend's  eyes,  "'tis  hard  for  both  of  us.  Be- 
lieve me,  my  heart  sorrows  as  thine  own ;  but,  until 
my  lord  and  father  freely  grants  thee  freedom,  we 
must  rest  content." 

"Would  not  he  grant  it,  if  thou  didst  ask  it,  lord?" 

The  Prince  threw  back  his  head  impatiently. 
"Thinkest  that  I  would  not  long  since  have  asked  it, 
did  I  not  know  the  answer?  Nay,  he  hates  thee, 
Mortimer,  nor  would  he  be  well  pleased  did  he  but 
know  how  truly  I  do  love  thee — thou  who  art  my 
rival  for  the  throne  of  England." 

"Now,  by  Heaven,  my  lord,  you  do  me  wrong," 
cried  Mortimer  hotly.  "If  certain  foolish  men  pro- 
claimed my  rights  in  opposition  to  thy  father's  rule, 
it  seemed  but  justice  then ;  but  thou,  Prince  Henry, 


Every  Inch  a  King  47 

art  my  sovereign  lord,  and  when  thy  father's  dead, 
this  knee,  which  often  bends  to  thee  as  prince,  shall 
bow  to  thee  as  king.  Now,  as  I  am  a  Mortimer,  I 
swear — " 

"Hold,  Earl  of  March,"  sternly  replied  the  Prince. 
"I  will  not  let  you  swear  an  oath  to  me.  If,  when 
my  liege  is  dead,  the  Parliament  which  placed  the 
crown  upon  his  royal  head  shall  make  thee  king,  in- 
stead of  Harry  Monmouth,  dost  think  I  will  not  bow 
me  to  its  will  and  greet  thee  as  my  lord?  And  if 
it  makes  me  king,  because  of  that,  and  not  because 
of  any  love  for  me,  I  shall  expect  a  like  obedience 
upon  thy  part.  But  this  is  not  the  time  or  place  to 
swear  allegiance  to  me.  Edmund,  the  day  is  come. 
I  must  to  horse." 

"Dear  my  lord,  in  truth  'tis  early  yet.  Thou  wilt 
not  go?  Thou  art  still  fasting." 

"I'  faith,  I  had  forgot  to  eat.  Pour  me  a  glass  of 
wine.  Here's  to  thy  health,  my  lord,  and  mayst 
thou  win  Anne  Stafford  for  thy  bride." 

The  earl  sprang  forward  with  a  joyful  cry. 
"My  lord,  wilt  help  me?  Else  what  chance  have  I, 
a  prisoner  within  these  four  gray  walls?" 

"Hark  thee,  Edmund,  if  the  lady  again  enters 
yonder  garden,  thou  mayst  woo  her  with  all  thine 
eloquence.  Thou  seest  how  I  trust  thee,  but  we'll 
not  wait  on  chance.  Tell  me,  first,  dost  really  wish 
this  maiden  for  thy  wife?" 

The  earl's  blazing  eyes  looked  full  into  the  ques- 
tioning ones  before  him.  "As  I  live,  my  lord,  I 


48  Every  Inch  a  King 

will  wed  no  maiden,  if  it  be  not  she.  And  if  I'm 
ever  a  free  man  again,  'twill  be  my  dearest  task  to 
seek  to  win  her." 

"Now,  on  mine  honor  as  the  Prince  of  Wales,  I 
swear  that  thou  shalt  have  her !"  And  Harry  Mon- 
mouth  seized  his  friend's  hands  in  both  of  his,  while 
his  sweet,  winning  smile  broke  forth.  "I  must,  my- 
self, woo  this  lady  for  thee,  since  thou  canst  not. 
Remember,  I'm  a  lover,  as  thou  art,  and  knowest  all 
the  jealousies  within  thy  breast.  Trust  me,  Ed- 
mund, and  'twill  go  hard  if  thou  hast  not  a  bride." 

And  with  these  amazing  words  ringing  in  his 
ears,  and  his  heart  surging  with  passion,  hope  and 
fear,  the  earl  found  himself  alone  with  his  own 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"He   did  pluck  allegiance  from  men's  hearts, 
Loud  shouts  and  salutations  from  their  mouths, 
Even  in  the  presence  of  the  crowned  king." 

HENRY  IV. 

IN  the  year  1411,  King  Henry's  court  appeared, 
to  foreign  nations,  united  in  giving  full  support  and 
allegiance  to  the  monarch.  The  successive  rebel- 
lions against  his  authority  had  each  in  turn  ended 
disastrously  for  the  rebels.  The  great  family  of  the 
Percys  was  almost  destroyed,  the  youthful  heir, 
Henry,  Second  Earl  of  Northumberland,  being  at 
this  time  an  attainted  and  penniless  exile  in  Scotland, 
while  Archbishop  Scrope,  Mowbray  and  Hastings 
had  suffered  traitors'  deaths  with  such  promptness 
as  to  make  men  exceedingly  careful  in  betraying 
their  disaffections.  There  remained,  however,  a 
strong  party  in  decided  opposition  to  the  King, 
noblemen  who  were  governed  by  conscientious 
scruples  concerning  the  monarch's  right  to  rule ;  and 
those  whose  love  of  justice  had  rebelled  against 
Henry's  misgovernment.  To  these  had  now  been 
added  a  third  and  more  numerous  class,  chiefly 
members  of  the  Beaufort  party,  whose  motive  lay  in 
their  love  and  admiration  for  the  Prince. 

Harry   Monmouth,   as   the  common   people   de- 


50  Every  Inch  a  King 

lighted  to  call  the  hero  whom  they  almost  wor- 
shipped, had  spent  his  youth  at  war  in  Wales  under 
conditions  which  might  well  have  made  a  man  of 
strength  despair.  Although  but  a  boy,  he  was  per- 
sonally at  the  head  of  his  troops,  directing  the  cam- 
paigns, leading  in  the  battles,  and  during  the  cruelly 
hard  intervals  of  preparation,  sharing  the  keen  suf- 
ferings of  his  men,  bearing  all  the  blame  when  the 
court  refused  the  sorely  needed  money  and  supplies, 
even  selling  his  few  jewels  to  buy  food ;  and  for  re- 
ward, receiving  only  the  bitter  complaints  of  the 
neglectful  court  at  the  lack  of  victories  over  an 
enemy  that  would  not  fight.  Bravely  and  steadily 
had  he  remained  year  after  year  at  his  post,  strug- 
gling against  the  ignorant  superstitions  of  his  men, 
the  inhuman  methods  of  warfare  used  by  his 
enemies,  the  constant  discouragements  and  unex- 
pected obstacles  that  he  encountered,  and  the  ever- 
increasing  privations  which  he  was  powerless  to  re- 
lieve. 

When  he  at  last  came  to  London,  leaving  Glen- 
dower  temporarily  exhausted,  he  was  already  a 
general  of  strength  and  power,  although  the  court 
believed  him  but  an  ignorant  boy.  In  the  year  1407 
he  conducted  several  successful  campaigns  in  Wales, 
but  London  was  henceforth  to  be  his  home.  In  the 
autumn  came  his  triumphal  expedition  to  Scotland, 
where  his  memory  must  often  have  recalled  the  far- 
away days  when  he  accompanied  King  Richard  to 
that  land  and  was  there  knighted  by  him — days  so 


Every  Inch  a  King  51 

quickly  followed  by  his  father's  usurpation  of  the 
throne.  And  perhaps  the  thoughts  of  the  Prince 
were  not  entirely  happy  ones,  for  Richard  had  been 
very  kind  to  the  young  boy,  and  although  but  a 
child,  Harry  had  felt  a  deep  affection  for  him,  and 
his  sorrow  at  the  unfortunate  monarch's  death  was 
accompanied  by  a  feeling  of  resentment  against  Bol- 
ingbroke  for  what,  to  his  mind,  seemed  injustice 
and  cruelty,  and  this  feeling,  unexpressed,  came  be- 
tween father  and  son  and  kept  them  apart. 

After  his  return  from  this  campaign,  young 
Henry  made  the  capital  his  residence;  and  with  an 
active  love  for  government,  which  amazed  the 
court,  he  took  his  place  in  the  Royal  Council,  and 
accepting  the  various  positions  of  Warden  of  the 
Cinque  Ports,  Constable  of  Dover  and  Captain  of 
Calais,  offered  him  chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  replen- 
ishing his  exchequer,  he  proved  himself  not  only 
nominal  but  actual  governor  of  these  places,  visiting 
them  in  person  and  attending  to  his  various  neces- 
sary duties  with  a  consistency  and  thoroughness 
which  was  worthy  of  the  highest  praise. 

Shortly  after  this  he  had  become  President  of  the 
Royal  Council  of  State,  and,  owing  to  the  ill-health 
of  his  father,  actual  King  of  England.  A  warrior 
of  great  personal  bravery,  wise  in  command,  gener- 
ous in  victory  and  undaunted  by  defeat ;  a  statesman 
broad  and  deep  of  thought,  prompt  and  decisive  of 
action;  seeing  with  a  wisdom  far  beyond  his  years 
the  course  to  be  pursued,  yet  ever  ready  to  listen 


52  Every  Inch  a  King 

with  a  charming  deference  to  the  opinions  of  others ; 
a  man  of  ready  sympathy,  perfect  trust  of  all  men, 
and  a  charming  courtesy  of  manner  which  could  not 
but  win  all  who  conversed  with  him — such,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-three,  was  Henry  of  Monmouth, 
Prince  of  Wales. 

Little  wonder,  then,  if  the  English  nobles,  dis- 
gusted with  their  King's  misrule,  wearied  by  his  ill- 
ness, and  angry  at  the  peevish  temper  he  displayed, 
determined  that  they  had  borne  it  long  enough,  and 
that  the  ending  should  not  be  postponed.  The 
Prince,  the  actual  king,  the  man  who  labored  morn- 
ing and  night  for  his  country's  good, — why  should 
he  not  receive  the  honors  of  his  place,  and  be  free 
from  the  King's  unreasoning  half-control  and  the 
opposition  so  ready  to  break  forth  at  any  moment  ? 

Why  not,  indeed?  What  step  could  be  more 
natural  or  wise  ? 

"The  King  that  is  shall  be  left  unharmed.  There 
is  no  need  of  bloodshed  in  the  matter." 

Thus  spoke  the  chancellor,  and  gazed  around  the 
little  circle  with  placid  contentment  in  his  quiet  face. 
There  had  gathered  in  the  palace  of  the  Bishop  of 
Winchester  the  chiefs  of  his  powerful  party.  A 
week  had  passed  since  that  momentous  meeting  of 
the  council  at  Windsor  and  the  bishop  had  spent 
every  minute  to  the  best  advantage  in  his  endeavor 
to  win  other  noblemen  to  active  support  of  the 
Prince,  yet  there  was  no  stranger  present  to-day. 

"I  dared  not  trust  a  single  man  among  them,"  the 


Every  Inch  a  King  53 

churchman  told  his  brother  sadly.  And  now,  clad 
in  his  rich,  scarlet  robes,  a  gold  chain  about  his  neck, 
and  gems  sparkling  upon  his  hands,  Winchester 
leaned  back  in  his  great  oaken  chair,  which  formed  a 
fit  background  for  his  powerful  figure,  and  his  pierc- 
ing eyes  kept  watch  of  each  movement  of  his  fellows 
— was  every  one  here  present  loyal  and  true  ?  There 
was  his  brother,  the  chancellor — no  need  to  fear  that 
he  would  prove  a  traitor  to  their  cause!  Had  he 
stood  alone,  Thomas  Beaufort  might  have  become 
a  leader  among  men,  for  he  possessed  strength  and 
courage  and  tenacity,  but  by  the  side  of  his  more 
powerful  brother,  whom  he  worshipped,  his  own 
qualities  were  overshadowed,  and  he  would  follow 
the  bishop's  lead  unfalteringly  even  if  it  led  him 
unto  death! 

Then  there  was  the  Earl  of  Suffolk.  The  bishop 
slightly  turned  his  head  and  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  handsome  figure,  well  displayed  in  the  brown 
velvet  costume  trimmed  with  fur,  and  at  the  noble 
face,  serene  and  earnest.  A  sincere  man,  that — 
swayed  by  no  light  emotions,  but  ever  steadfast  and 
true.  And  as  the  bishop  thought  of  all  the  years  they 
two  had  worked  together  for  their  country,  he 
nodded  his  head  slightly  and  a  satisfied  smile  played 
about  his  lips.  Never  yet  had  the  earl  failed  him  in 
time  of  need — he  would  not  fail  him  now. 

There  fell  upon  his  ears  a  clear  young  voice,  cry- 
ing in  answer  to  Beaufort's  peaceful  words, — "Ay, 
if  there  be  no  bloodshed,  it  were  well ;  yet  I,  for  one, 


54  Every  Inch  a  King 

would  gladly  strike  a  blow  and  give  my  life,  if  need 
be,  for  our  Prince." 

The  bishop  glanced  quickly  at  the  speaker,  who 
had  paused  in  his  restless  pacing  to  and  fro  and 
stood  opposite  to  the  churchman.  A  gallant  figure, 
dressed  gaily  in  crimson  and  fine  linen,  his  sparkling 
eyes  fixed  on  the  chancellor,  his  gleaming  teeth 
showing  in  his  smile, — was  he  to  be  trusted?  Had 
it  been  unwise  to  admit  him  here  among  them? 
Surely  not; — impulsive,  brave  and  loyal,  he  was  a 
true  son  of  Earl  Suffolk,  inheriting  his  father's 
noblest  qualities,  to  which  he  added  the  vigor  and 
enthusiasm  of  youth.  Bishop  Winchester  felt  his 
heart  go  out  toward  the  handsome  knight.  "Sir 
Michael,"  he  said,  "thou  and  Earl  Arundel — i'  faith, 
but  I  do  wish  that  he  were  here — would  sooner  fight 
than  eat,  I  dare  be  sworn.  Wilt  thou  not  be  content 
if  we  do  win  in  peace?" 

The  gallant  De  la  Pole  flushed  in  some  embarrass- 
ment. "I  meant  not  that  I  did  desire  war,"  he 
answered  quickly,  "but  'tis  my  wish  to  prove  my 
loyalty  to  Harry  Monmouth  by  greater  sacrifice 
than  peaceful  words." 

"As  yet,  methinks  I  do  not  understand  thy  pur- 
pose, gallant  Beaufort,"  came  a  low  voice  from  a 
far  corner  of  the  apartment.  "How  is  it  that  thou 
wilt  dethrone  the  King  in  peace?" 

The  bishop  started  a  little,  and  leaned  forward. 
Here  was  a  man  he  had  not  fully  considered.  Baron 
Scrope  of  Masham,  Knight  of  the  Garter,  the  royal 


Every  Inch  a  King  55 

treasurer !  A  noble  who  was  called  the  Prince's  dear 
friend ;  who  had  been  honored  and  raised  to  mighty 
places ;  who,  by  every  tie  of  gratitude,  was  beholden 
to  Harry  Monmouth.  His  first  wife  had  been  of 
royal  blood,  and  now  it  was  the  gossip  of  the  court 
that  he  would  wed  the  Lady  Joan  Holland,  whose 
father,  the  second  Earl  of  Kent,  had  been  a  half- 
brother  of  King  Richard,  and  whose  sister  Margaret 
had  so  recently  become  the  bride  of  Thomas  of 
Clarence.  If  Prince  Harry  became  king,  what  fu- 
ture would  be  too  great  for  Baron  Scrope?  There 
could  be  no  question  but  that  he  would  be  loyal  and 
true. 

The  chancellor's  voice  broke  in  upon  the  bishop's 
thoughts.  "My  lord  baron,  our  purpose  is,  briefly, 
this :  That  we  shall  all  appear  before  the  King,  say 
to  him  plainly  that  he  is  too  ill  to  be  upon  the  throne, 
and  with  gentle  but  persistent  argument  convince 
him  that  'tis  best  he  should  resign." 

"And  dost  thou  think  we  can  accomplish  this?" 
inquired  Scrope  earnestly. 

"Ay,  and  wherefore  not?"  asked  Winchester. 
"My  royal  brother  is  very  weak  and  ill.  Thou  know- 
est  Prince  Harry  gained  his  consent  to  the  Burgun- 
dian  alliance, — why  can  we  not  obtain  it  for  our 
cause?  He  will  be  entirely  unprepared  for  our  pro- 
posal, and  we  will  not  permit  him  to  regain  his  self- 
control.  Before  he  doth  entirely  understand  our 
purpose,  we  shall  have  secured  his  signature  to  the 
form  of  resignation." 


56  Every  Inch  a  King 

The  baron  raised  his  hand  to  his  face,  seeking  to 
hide  the  half  scornful  smile  upon  his  lips,  but  his 
voice  was  very  deferential  as  he  said, — "Ah,  my  lord 
bishop,  thou  hast  planned  it  well.  It  appears  that 
failure  be  impossible, — unless  the  King  is  warned." 

"And  that  is  a  danger  which  we  need  not  fear," 
answered  Winchester  sharply,  "no  man  shall  know 
what  we  do  meditate  except  we  five  alone,  and 
wouldst  thou  dare  to  doubt  one  of  us,  baron  ?" 

"Upon  mine  honor,  no!"  cried  Scrope  hastily. 
"Were  I  so  evil  minded  I  should  deserve  to  die  upon 
thy  sword.  And  yet,  lord  bishop,  this  plan  doth 
please  me  not." 

"And  wherein  doth  it  fail  to  please  thy  mighti- 
ness?" cried  De  la  Pole,  in  sudden  anger.  He  did 
not  like  the  baron,  chiefly,  perhaps,  because  he 
dearly  loved  the  Prince,  and  was  jealous  of  Scrope's 
place  in  his  affections.  "Is  not  the  wisdom  of  my 
Lord  of  Winchester  beyond  dispute  ?  And  wilt  thou 
presume — " 

"Michael,  hold  thy  peace,"  cried  Suffolk  sternly, 
then  turning  to  the  baron, — "My  Lord  of  Masham, 
I  pray  thee  pardon  him.  He  is  ever  ready  to  say 
that  which  he  doth  not  mean." 

The  young  knight  stood  silent  in  obedience  to  his 
father's  command,  but  his  eyes  spoke  for  him  elo- 
quently. 

Scrope  glanced  at  him  and  smiled  tolerantly. 
"Every  man  is  entitled  to  his  own  opinion,"  he  re- 
plied. "Thy  son,  Lord  Suffolk,  did  but  express  his 


Every  Inch  a  King  57 

preference  for  that  advanced  by  my  lord  bishop ;  and 
yet,  Sir  Michael,"  he  continued,  addressing  the 
young  man  with  a  certain  frankness  which  became 
him  well,  "I  intended  only  to  echo  thine  own  desire 
— that  we  might  strike  a  blow  for  Harry  Mon- 
mouth." 

If  De  la  Pole  was  hot-tempered,  he  was  also  quick 
to  acknowledge  himself  in  the  wrong ;  and,  ashamed 
of  his  outbreak,  he  crossed  to  the  baron's  side  and 
humbly  said,  "My  lord,  I  crave  thy  pardon  for  my 
hasty  words.  With  all  my  heart  would  I  fight  by 
thy  side  in  such  a  cause." 

"Nay,  I  was  not  offended,"  answered  Scrope 
good-humoredly,  then  turning  to  the  others,  he  con- 
tinued gravely, — "My  lords,  ye  do  know  the  frank 
and  loving  nature  of  our  Prince,  and  ye  have  not 
forgot  his  humility  toward  the  King.  F  faith,  he 
will  not  relish  our  obtaining  Henry's  resignation  by 
using  force  when  he  lies  so  ill." 

"Thou  hast  mistook  my  purpose,"  cried  the 
bishop,  but  the  baron  raised  his  hand, — "nay,  par- 
don me,  I  meant  not  to  put  it  thus,  but  thou  art  de- 
pending upon  the  King's  illness  for  thy  success. 
Now,  my  lords,  we  are  all  good  swordsmen,  let  us 
arm  ourselves,  gather  our  allies  about  us,  and  de- 
mand the  coronation  of  the  Prince.  Harry  is  be- 
loved by  the  Parliament,"  he  continued  persuasively, 
"and  a  small  display  of  force  will  conquer  the  entire 
land.  Thus  might  and  not — I  am  loath  to  call  it 
trickery — " 


58  Every  Inch  a  King 

"Search  for  no  other  word — I  understand  thy 
meaning — "  answered  Winchester  with  dignity. 
"Baron,  I  might  well  be  angered  at  what  thou  say- 
est,  but  I  will  forget  it  for  the  Prince's  sake.  Yet 
I  confess  I  scarce  expected  to  learn  from  thy  lips 
that  the  Prince  preferred  an  armed  rebellion  to 
peaceful  argument." 

Scrope's  face  darkened  with  anger,  and  his  small 
eyes  contracted,  but  when  he  would  have  answered, 
Winchester  interrupted  him  with  an  appeal  to  the 
others.  "My  lords,  how  many  of  ye  agree  with 
me?" 

The  chancellor,  Suffolk  and  Sir  Michael  cried  as 
with  one  voice, — "Thou  art  wise,  my  lord."  And 
the  baron  bit  his  lip,  but  forced  himself  to  answer, — 
"It  may  be  that  ye  are  in  the  right,  my  lords,  I  will 
say  no  more." 

"I  thank  thee,  Lord  Scrope,"  said  Winchester 
courteously,  his  momentary  doubt  of  the  baron  dis- 
pelled. Then  he  continued  quietly,  "We  are,  then, 
all  agreed  that  there  shall  be  no  righting.  We  go 
peacefully  before  the  King,  and  if  we  fail,  he  cannot 
charge  us  with  being  traitors  to  him.  Brother,  thou 
art  our  pretty  speechmaker, — how  shall  we  address 
Henry  Bolingbroke  ?" 

The  chancellor  smiled — he  did  not  relish  blood- 
shed, and  was  relieved  at  their  decision,  but  in  the 
field  of  diplomacy  he  was  most  successful,  and  the 
readiness  of  his  reply  showed  his  ability.  "Let  our 
request,"  he  answered,  "be  clothed  in  such  form  as 


Every  Inch  a  King  59 

this:  'Sire,  thou  hast  been  very  great  upon  thy 
throne,  and  men  do  praise  the  deeds  that  thou  hast 
done.  Now,  in  thy  sickness,  which  is  sore  upon  thee, 
do  thou  throw  off  this  heavy  load  of  state  and  rest 
thee  from  thy  labors.  Thy  gallant  son — less  noble 
only  than  thy  gracious  self — will  take  the  burden 
from  thee,  and  while  thou  still  livest  and  canst  guide 
his  youthful  footsteps  with  thy  long  proven  wisdom, 
he  shall  rule.' " 

"Mayhap,  my  lords,  the  King  will  answer  that  the 
Prince  doth  rule  already,"  suggested  Scrope,  but  his 
voice  was  drowned  in  the  general  chorus  of  ap- 
proval. 

"And  now,  my  lords,  what  arguments  shall  we 
advance?"  questioned  the  bishop. 

"The  greatest  one  is  the  support  of  Parliament," 
suggested  Suffolk. 

"Thou  art  right,"  cried  Winchester  exultingly, 
"Henry  doth  fear  the  Commons  more  than  the 
Lords.  Our  strength  doth  lie  therein.  Oh,  we  shall 
assuredly  win  his  resignation." 

"But  if  we  fail,  may  we  not  fight  for  it?"  asked 
Sir  Michael  pleadingly. 

Winchester  smiled,  but  ere  he  could  reply  the 
baron  exclaimed,  "Lords,  is  not  your  purpose  a 
foolish  risk?  The  King  doth  lie  almost  at  point  of 
death.  In  a  few  days  he'll  trouble  ye  no  more." 

"The  King  may  live  for  a  full  score  of  years," 
answered  Earl  Suffolk;  "those  for  whose  death  we 
hunger  seldom  die  save  by  foul  means.  Boling- 


60  Every  Inch  a  King 

broke  is  still  young  and  doth  hold  out  against  his 
two  years'  sickness  valiantly.  Wouldst  thou  have 
the  Prince  continue  to  submit  to  his  jealous  opposi- 
tion?" 

Scrope  made  no  reply,  but  his  heart  filled  with 
anger.  By  what  trick  did  they  defeat  each  of  his 
propositions  and  make  him  appear  disloyal  to  the 
Prince  ?  Not  one  of  them  was  as  true  as  he ! 

Michael,  impatient  of  this  interruption,  again 
addressed  the  bishop,  "May  we  not  fight  if  we  do 
fail  in  peace?" 

Suffolk  frowned  at  his  restless  son,  but  Winches- 
ter answered  his  question  thoughtfully. 

"Sir  Michael,  I  myself  would  gladly  draw  my 
sword  to  win  this  victory  for  our  Prince,  and  yet 
methinks  we  could  not  win  in  open  battle.  The  Lord 
Arundel  is  in  Burgundy,  and  beside  ourselves  here 
present,  and  noble  Courtenay,  the  chancellor  of  Ox- 
ford, there  are  but  few  of  any  prominence.  York  and 
his  brother  might  join  our  forces,  but  Warwick  and 
Westmoreland,  although  they  do  love  Harry  Mon- 
mouth  well,  would  not  consent  to  fight  against  their 
king.  And  then,"  he  continued  sneeringly,  "con- 
sider the  archbishop,  with  all  the  servile  fellows  that 
do  bow  before  him  for  pardon  of  their  sins!  And 
my  nephew  Thomas,  because  of  those  paltry  marks  I 
would  not  give  him — had  I  no  right  to  Somerset's 
bequest,  I,  the  executor  of  my  brother's  will  ? — doth 
hate  me  bitterly,  and  I  believe  would  even  fight  his 
brother  for  my  sake.  Then  there  is  Stanley,  and 


Every  Inch  a  King  61 

the  lord  chief  justice,  Salisbury,  and  Talbot  of  Hal- 
lamshire,  and  even  Courtenay's  cousin,  the  blind 
earl  of  Devon,  who,  they  say,  doth  still  wield  a 
valiant  sword.  And  finally,"  he  added,  "if  West- 
moreland chooses  to  fight  against  us,  his  sons,  both 
John  and  Ralph,  would  join  their  father  and,  per- 
chance, also  the  husbands  of  his  daughters — Lord 
Mauley,  Lord  Dacre,  Sir  Thomas  Gray  and  Sir  Gil- 
bert Umfreville.  Where  shall  we  find  swords  to  op- 
pose this  host?" 

"We  are  fortunate,"  said  Suffolk  grimly,  "that 
Westmoreland's  nine  sons  by  thy  sister  Joan  are  still 
too  young  to  arm  themselves  for  battle." 

In  spite  of  their  anxiety  a  general  laugh  greeted 
this  speech,  and  the  chancellor  said:  "Thou  seest, 
Sir  Michael,  that  to  fight  were  madness.  If  argu- 
ment do  fail  us,  there  is  no  hope." 

The  knight  acknowledged,  with  great  reluctance, 
that  a  battle  upon  these  terms  would  be  worse  than 
useless ;  whereupon  the  bishop  said,  smiling,  "Cour- 
age, my  lords,  let  us  not  talk  of  failure  until  the 
deed  be  done." 

"When  shall  we  appear  before  the  King?"  asked 
Suffolk. 

"Let  us  make  no  delay,"  cried  Baron  Scrope,  "the 
King  is  very  weak,  and  he  may  rally ;  moreover,  time 
will  make  our  purpose  dangerous." 

"Then  do  we  make  our  final  play  without  the  help 
of  a  strong  argument,"  answered  the  chancellor. 
"To  me  it  seemeth  best  that  we  should  wait  until  we 


62  Every  Inch  a  King 

receive  definite  information  from  Earl  Arundel. 
Can  we  appear  before  the  King  with  the  tidings  of 
a  victory,  we  can  use  it  as  a  weapon  against  him." 

"And  if  Arundel  tells  us  of  defeat?"  questioned 
the  baron  smoothly. 

"My  lord,  thou  lackest  confidence,"  said  Win- 
chester, "we  must  all  risk  defeat,  but  it  were  best 
that  we  expected  victory.  For  my  part,  I  agree  with 
Thomas  that  it  were  wisest  to  delay  our  plans  until 
we  hear  from  Burgundy.  What  sayest  thou,  Suf- 
folk?" 

"I  echo  thy  words,  my  lord,"  the  earl  answered, 
smiling,  and  his  son,  in  response  to  the  bishop's 
glance,  bowed  in  assent. 

"Enough,  then,"  cried  Winchester,  "we  are 
agreed.  Are  there  other  matters  to  be  discussed  ?" 

A  general  silence  answered  his  question,  and  the 
noblemen  rose  and  prepared  to  take  their  departure. 
The  bishop  stood  watching  them  thoughtfully,  then 
suddenly  stepping  to  the  wall,  he  pushed  aside  a 
piece  of  tapestry  and  drew  forth  a  jewelled  sword, 
the  hilt  of  which  formed  a  cross.  "My  lords,"  he 
said,  "before  ye  leave  this  chamber,  each  one  of  ye 
shall  swear  upon  this  weapon  that  ye  will  be  true 
to  our  cause." 

A  general  expression  of  surprise  was  visible  upon 
every  face,  but  Suffolk  came  forward  at  once  and 
took  the  oath,  followed  by  De  la  Pole  and  then 
Thomas  Beaufort.  Scrope  was  last.  Winchester 
watched  each  face  in  turn  with  keen  eagerness,  and 


Every  Inch  a  King  63 

when  the  baron  advanced  his  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
him  through  and  through.  But  my  Lord  of  Masham 
met  his  gaze  fairly,  with  neither  flush  nor  contrac- 
tion of  the  brows.  He  laid  hold  firmly  upon  the 
sword,  and  his  voice  rang  clear  and  decided  as  he 
said,  "I  swear  upon  mine  honor,  that  in  all  things 
I  will  be  true  to  the  cause  of  my  lord  the  Prince." 

Winchester  gazed  after  him  with  compressed  lips. 
"I  was  a  fool  to  doubt — any  of  them !"  he  muttered 
beneath  his  breath.  "They  will  not  break  an  oath 
made  with  such  solemnity."  And  from  that  mo- 
ment all  suspicion  left  his  mind,  never  to  return. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"Women,  like  princes,  find  few  real  friends." 

LORD  LYTTLETON. 

ALTHOUGH  it  was  the  first  week  of  November, 
a  wave  of  summer  heat  had  crossed  the  land,  and 
caused  the  King  to  leave  his  winter  palace  and  seek 
the  cooler  residence  of  Windsor.  There  the  court 
had  gathered  to  ride  and  hunt  at  will  in  the  great 
forests;  and  on  this  glorious  autumn  afternoon, 
Queen  Joan,  attended  by  her  ladies,  had  roamed 
freely  through  the  gardens,  and,  at  length,  arriving 
at  a  pavilion,  she  had  seated  herself  upon  a  marble 
bench  to  listen  to  a  concert  by  the  King's  minstrels. 

The  music  seemed  a  fit  background  for  the  low- 
voiced  conversation  of  the  women.  Silence,  for 
any  length  of  time,  was  impossible  when  there  was 
so  enchanting  a  topic  of  conversation  but  half  dis- 
cussed. 

"And  most  amazing  of  all,"  murmured  the  new- 
made  Princess  Margaret,  "'tis  said  the  Prince  doth 
personally  desire  this  marriage." 

The  Queen  smiled  coldly.  "Ay,  it  doth  so  appear. 
Of  all  wilful,  headstrong  men,  he  is  supreme.  The 
King  hath  urged  him  constantly  to  wed,  and  sought 
a  daughter  of  Denmark  and  Valois;  but  Harry 


Every  Inch  a  King 

answered  he'd  have  none  of  it.  And  now,  it  seems, 
against  the  King's  advice,  he'd  win  a  princess  of 
proud  Burgundy!  I'  faith,  one  never  knows  what 
men  will  do." 

"Dost  thou  not  favor  the  alliance,  madam? 
Methought  the  daughter  of  Duke  John  had  beauty, 
and  certain  her  dowry  will  not  be  small." 

Joan  raised  her  eyes  to  the  calm,  noble  face  of 
the  lady  by  her  side.  "Ay,  Lady  Westmoreland, 
we  do  not  oppose  the  matter,  yet  prithee  tell  us 
why  the  Prince  would  not  be  guided  by  our  own 
grave  counsel;  why  he  refuses  marriage  with  such 
hatred,  saying, — he  will  not  wed  till  he  can  choose 
a  princess  that  shall  truly  please  himself;  yet  now, 
in  secret,  and  with  suddenness,  before  we  even 
guess  what  is  afoot,  Arundel  is  away  to  Burgundy 
and  sendeth  word  the  duke  will  give  his  daughter." 

The  countess  smiled  a  little.  She  saw  the  Queen's 
displeasure  arose  because  the  Prince  had  not  con- 
fided in  her  ere  the  whole  court  had  been  informed 
of  it. 

Joan  of  Navarre,  formal  and  hard  of  heart,  was 
a  superb  actress,  and  always  assumed  a  quick  and 
loving  nature,  and  sought  to  have  both  men  and 
women  think  that  she  was  all  affection  toward 
each  one.  She  wished  to  know  the  secrets  of  all 
hearts  and  used  her  place  as  queen  to  win  their 
confidences.  When  Harry  Monmouth  returned  to 
court,  she  assumed  the  role  of  a  devoted  mother 
whose  every  dearest  wish  was  for  her  son.  There 


66  Every  Inch  a  King 

were,  indeed,  but  few — or  men  or  women — who 
were  not  false  and  artificial  like  herself. 

Henry  of  Bolingbroke  was  a  man  of  coldness, 
reserve  and  craft.  He  kept  his  thoughts,  his  ac- 
tions, under  absolute  control.  No  impulses  were 
allowed  to  sway  him,  but  every  act  was  planned 
deliberately.  In  many  of  his  court,  deeply  in- 
fluenced by  his  character,  yet  having  not  his 
strength  and  nobler  qualities,  reserve  and  coldness 
became  proud  hauteur  and  stoniness  of  heart,  while 
subtle  craft  changed  to  intrigue  and  deceit,  all 
being  hedged  about  with  formality. 

Into  such  a  circle  came  the  Prince,  fresh  from 
his  wars,  and  the  stern  problems  which  had  made 
him  a  man.  With  perfect  frankness,  absence  of  all 
distrust,  and  the  easy  courtesy  which  greets  all  men 
alike,  he  sought  their  friendship,  and  received, 
instead,  coldness,  formality  and  suspicion  of  his 
motives.  The  nobles  could  not  understand  his 
generous  nature,  his  sincerity  of  purpose ;  while  he, 
in  turn,  shrank  from  their  affectation,  and  grew  to 
hate  the  life  of  ceremony  under  which  all  that  per- 
tains to  nature  was  concealed.  Had  the  Queen 
been  sincere  in  the  love  which  she  professed  for 
him,  he  would  have  gladly  opened  his  heart  to  her; 
but  he  soon  read  her  falseness,  grew  wearied  by 
her  demands  for  confidences,  and  the  advice  she 
offered  upon  every  subject,  and  so  found  it  im- 
possible to  have  any  other  feeling  for  her  than  that 
which  duty  called  for. 


Every  Inch  a  King  67 

Thus  it  was  that  Joan's  first  knowledge  of  a 
Burgundian  marriage  came  not  from  her  stepson, 
but  from  a  formal  announcement  to  the  court.  Her 
Grace  was  in  a  most  unpleasant  humor,  though  she 
strove  diligently  to  conceal  it.  And  now,  a  sudden 
thought  brought  a  gleam  of  malicious  pleasure  to 
her  eyes,  as  she  turned  to  the  Princess,  and  asked 
very  sweetly :  "Will  it  not  be  charming,  Margaret, 
to  have  this  high-born  lady  at  the  court?  There 
will  be  feasting  and  much  merriment,  and  thou 
shalt  sit  beside  her,  at  her  right,  as  becomes  the 
wife  of  Harry's  younger  brother.  Thou  wilt  enjoy 
this  greatly,  wilt  thou  not?" 

Margaret  flushed,  annoyed  by  her  plain  words. 
She  had  been  the  Princess  of  the  court  but  scarce 
a  year  (the  King's  two  daughters  having  long  been 
married)  and  little  relished  taking  an  humbler 
place.  But  with  the  readiness  of  one  long  used  to 
concealment  of  her  feelings,  she  answered:  "Ay, 
madam,  I  shall  gladly  welcome  my  new  sister  to 
the  English  court." 

The  slight  accent  on  the  word  which  proudly 
claimed  such  near  relationship  did  not  escape  the 
Queen,  who  felt  defeated.  Then  came  a  gentle 
voice:  "Madam,  dost  think  the  wedding  will  be 
soon?" 

It  was  Anne  Stafford  spoke, — Anne,  in  her 
clinging  garments,  reflecting  in  their  exquisite 
hues  the  rosy  gleams  of  sunset,  her  flowing  hair, 
falling  in  soft  waves  about  her  shoulders,  her  clear, 


68  Every  Inch  a  King 

blue  eyes  full  of  pure  innocence,  her  sweet,  red  lips 
that  never  yet  had  felt  the  kiss  of  man — she  moved 
among  these  goddesses  of  beauty,  these  ladies 
dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  and  in  her  sweet- 
ness and  simplicity  seemed  like  a  modest  violet 
beside  the  haughty  rose.  As  the  Queen  looked  at 
her,  she  suddenly  remembered  that,  of  late,  the 
ever  gallant  Prince  had  sought  her  out  and  shown 
her  such  attention  that  the  whole  court  had  noticed 
it  and  wondered.  And  the  jealous  Queen  answered 
with  a  sudden  bitter  meaning, — "  'Twill  be  sooner 
than  thou  dost  desire." 

Anne  shrank  a  little  at  her  vehemence,  but  made 
reply  with  gentle  dignity, — "Your  Grace,  I  would 
it  were  to-morrow.  The  Prince  already  grows  im- 
patient for  it.  He  thinks  that  there  has  been 
needless  delay."  *' 

"How  dost  thou  know  that  he  is  so  impatient?" 

"He  told  me  so,"  she  answered  quietly. 

The  Queen  sprang  to  her  feet  in  sudden  fury: 
"He  told  thee  that  he  did  desire  it?  The  announce- 
ment to  the  court  came  but  this  morning.  The 
Prince  has  not  been  here  since  Tuesday  week. 
When  didst  thou  learn  the  marriage  would  take 
place?" 

Bravely  she  answered:  "Near  a  fortnight  since, 
he  told  me,  but  he  bade  me  keep  it  close." 

The  Queen's  eyes  blazed,  and  she  said  cruelly: 
"F  faith,  but  it  is  time  that  he  were  married." 

The  Lady  of  Stafford  smothered  a  quick  sob. 


Every  Inch  a  King  69 

"Madam,"  she  stammered,  her  cheeks  bathed  with 
crimson,  "you  cannot  think — you  surely  do  not 
mean — " 

But  a  loving  hand  stole  round  her  slender  waist, 
a  gentle  voice  whispered  a  word  of  courage  in  her 
ear,  and  Lady  Westmoreland  turned  and  faced  the 
Queen. 

"No,"  she  said  firmly,  "her  Grace  does  not  mean 
that;  she  knows  as  well  as  we  that  the  kind 
Prince  has  shown  to  each  in  turn  of  the  fair  ladies 
who  compose  this  court  such  gallantry  as  he  has 
shown  to  thee.  Moreover,  madam"  (here  she  ad- 
dressed the  Queen),  "during  the  absence  of  the 
Countess  of  Stafford,  my  husband's  niece  is  under 
my  protection;  if  thou  hast  aught  to  say  against 
her,  speak  to  me,  or  even  to  Lord  Scrope,  her 
future  husband." 

The  Queen  made  haste  to  answer  soothingly, — 
"Nay,  countess,  I  meant  no  thought  .against  her. 
Tis  little  wonder  if  our  noble  son,  seeing  her 
beauty,  knowing  her  worthiness,  should  find  a 
pleasure  in  her  society.  We  did  not  know  that  she 
would  wed  Lord  Scrope.  Mistress,  I  wish  thee 
every  happiness." 

Anne  would  have  attempted  some  denial,  but 
the  countess  whispered  silence,  so,  with  a  deep 
courtesy,  she  kissed  the  Queen's  fair  hand  held  out 
to  her.  But  Lady  Westmoreland  smiled  in  triumph, 
for  Lady  Holland  had  turned  very  pale. 

Knowing   that   she   had   blundered,   the   Queen 


jo  Every  Inch  a  King 

made  haste  to  engage  the  ever-powerful  countess 
in  conversation,  and  endeavored  to  show  her  such 
attention  that  she  would  forget  the  insult  offered 
to  the  Lady  Anne;  for  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland 
was  one  of  the  King's  most  powerful  friends  and 
adherents,  and  his  lady,  the  sister  of  the  King,  was 
acknowledged  at  the  court  as  second  to  none,  save 
the  Queen  herself.  There  was  every  reason  to 
suppose,  that  in  an  open  quarrel  between  the  two, 
the  haughty  ladies,  as  fearless  as  their  lords,  would 
give  their  countenance  unto  the  countess;  and  this 
Joan  dared  not  risk. 

Meantime,  Anne  Stafford  stood  embarrassed, 
with  many  eyes  upon  her.  Then  the  Princess  came 
slowly  forward  and  held  out  her  hand.  "Mistress," 
she  said,  trying  to  give  a  tone  of  sweet  cordiality  to 
her  cold,  hard  voice,  "let  us  join  with  the  Queen 
in  wishing  the  prospective  bride  of  Baron  Scrope 
a  joyful  future.  We  are  glad  to  know  the  baron 
has  shown  so  wise  a  judgment;  and  we  who  know 
his  lordship  well,  can  praise  the  Lady  Stafford  for 
her  choice." 

Anne  stood  confused.  She  knew  her  mother 
had  not  yet  given  an  answer  to  the  baron,  and  her 
own  lips  had  prayed  he  be  refused;  yet  had  she 
accepted  the  Queen's  congratulations,  and  now 
could  only  bow  and  murmur  thanks.  Then 
sounded  in  her  ears  a  voice  whose  quiver  was  not 
all  concealed.  It  was  Lady  Holland,  sister  to  the 
Princess. 


Every  Inch  a  King  7 1 

"Let  me  also,  mistress,  wish  thee  joy.  When 
last  his  lordship  rode  beside  my  horse,  he  did  not 
tell  me  of  his  happiness.  I'  faith,  he  was  unkind 
to  an  old  friend.  Pray  tell  me,  hast  thou  been 
betrothed  many  days?" 

Something  in  the  eagerness  of  the  tone,  the 
paleness  and  the  trembling  of  the  lips,  made  Anne 
aware  this  lady  was  her  rival;  and  still  offended  at 
the  Queen's  hard  words,  she  answered  with  slight 
hauteur:  "His  lordship  made  his  offer  some 
time  since,  but  even  yet  has  received  no  formal 
answer." 

The  thought  that  this  delicate  young  girl  should 
hold  Lord  Scrope  in  waiting  for  a  word,  while  she, 
with  her  magnificence  of  figure,  and  her  richness 
and  elegance  of  dress,  she,  with  her  almost  royal 
blood,  must  love  in  vain,  and  see  Anne  win  the 
prize — this  thought  brought  color  to  Lady  Hol- 
land's cheeks.  She  was  so  little  mistress  of  herself 
in  her  surprise  and  consternation  at  the  news,  that 
she  would  have  made  an  angry,  scornful  answer, 
had  not  another  lady  claimed  Anne's  attention. 

This  was  no  other  than  Anne  of  Conisborough, 
she  who  was  sister  to  the  Earl  of  March.  "We 
scarce  do  know  each  other,  Lady  Stafford,  yet 
being  so  lately  a  young  bride  myself,  my  heart  goes 
out  to  every  betrothed  maiden.  Thou  hast  my 
heartiest  congratulations." 

"I  thank  thee,  madam,"  answered  the  blushing 
lady.  "How  does  that  boy  whose  advent  was  so 


72  Every  Inch  a  King 

recent?  We  hear  that  he's  as  handsome  as  his 
mother." 

The  Lady  of  Conisborough  smiled,  well  pleased 
with  the  plain  compliment.  "My  son  is  well,  and 
growing  with  much  vigor,  although  he  yet  is 
scarce  three  months  old.  Oh,  how  I  wish  that  he 
were  grown  a  man.  I  long  to  see  a  son  of  mine 
at  court." 

Anne  gave  her  a  swift  glance  of  sympathy, 
thinking  of  her  own  young  brother,  Humphrey, 
then  with  a  quick  remembrance  she  asked  shyly: 
"Is't  long,  madam,  since  thou  hast  seen  thy 
brother?" 

The  lady  looked  astonished.  "What,  my  brother? 
Oh,  thou  meanest  Edmund,  the  Earl  of  March. 
Why,  he's  in  prison.  I  do  never  see  him." 

"Will  not  the  Prince  allow  even  his  sister?" 

"F  faith,  I  have  never  asked  him  to  allow  me. 
I  have  not  seen  Edmund  since  I  was  a  child." 

Anne  gazed  at  her,  amazed  at  her  indifference, 
but  ere  she  could  make  answer,  the  Queen  ex- 
claimed delightedly: 

"Look,  here  comes  the  Prince !" 

Across  the  greensward  he  came,  with  grace  in 
every  movement;  his  handsome  head  erect,  his  tall, 
symmetrical  and  perfectly  developed  figure  clad  in 
a  rich  doublet  of  soft  olive  satin,  with  full  slashed 
sleeves  showing  his  white  linen;  his  shapely  limbs 
covered  by  long  silken  hose,  his  leathern  boots 
pointed  and  curled  upward.  From  his  shoulders 


Every  Inch  a  King  73 

fell,  almost  to  the  ground,  a  cape  of  cloth,  lined 
with  white  satin,  while  above  his  dark,  smooth 
hair  was  a  cap  with  feathers  which  swept  his  shoul- 
ders. 

Little  wonder  that  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  him, 
and  every  heart  beat  faster  in  the  ladies'  breasts. 
As  he  came  nearer,  one  could  see  that  his  oval  face 
was  cut  as  delicately  as  a  woman's;  with  long, 
straight  nose,  and  slender  and  well-curved  chin 
and  jaw.  His  forehead,  like  his  father's,  was  capa- 
cious and  indicative  of  great  force  of  character.  The 
ruddy  glow  of  perfect  health  was  in  his  cheeks;  his 
brilliant  eyes  were  alight  with  pleasure  and  his 
charming  smile  was  upon  his  lips  as  he  bent  low 
over  the  Queen's  hand. 

"Thou  hast  deserted  us,"  said  her  Grace  re- 
proachfully. 

"Nay,  madam,"  he  answered,  "say,  rather,  that 
duty  has,  perforce,  denied  me  pleasure.  I  have  but 
just  returned  from  Hastings. — My  Lady  West- 
moreland, is  your  lord  hunting?" 

"Ay,  your  Grace,  he  will  be  back  erelong,"  and 
the  countess  smiled  upon  her  nephew  affection- 
ately. 

With  the  genial  courtesy  of  manner  which  had 
so  won  the  heart  of  every  woman,  he  gave  a  happy 
greeting  to  each  lady,  and  finally  came  in  turn  to 
Anne  Stafford.  As  he  bowed  before  her  with  a 
grace  which  women  might  have  envied,  the  Queen 
addressed  him: 


74  Every  Inch  a  King 

"We  have  this  morning  only  learned  of  your 
Grace's  intended  marriage." 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  very  calmly,  "it  seemed 
best  to  make  no  announcement  until  there  was 
some  certainty  in  the  matter.  A  post  hath  come 
this  very  day  from  Dover  saying  Arundel,  with 
the  fearless  duke,  arrived  in  Paris  on  the  twenty- 
third.  I  do  expect  the  earl  will  bring  my  bride  when 
he  returns  to  England  as  a  victor." 

"Art  very  anxious  for  this  marriage,  Harry?" 

"Ay,  madam,  I  am  most  impatient  for  it." 

The  Queen  glanced  questioningly  at  his  calm 
face.  He  did  not  appear  as  eager  as  his  words 
would  seem  to  merit.  She  ventured  another  stroke. 

"We  have  but  now  congratulated  the  Lady  Anne 
on  her  coming  marriage  to  Lord  Scrope." 

She  watched  him  closely.  He  started,  and 
flashed  an  astonished  look  at  Lady  Stafford,  then, 
with  a  formal  courtesy,  he  said:  "I'm  glad  my 
friend  is  to  be  made  so  happy." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  looked  at  him,  and 
in  that  instant  Harry  partly  read  the  truth;  and 
with  a  lighter  heart,  yet  wondering,  he  seated  him- 
self beside  the  triumphant  Queen. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

'What  is  life,  when  wanting  love?" 


BURNS. 


NEARLY  an  hour  had  passed  when  the  King  and 
his  party  returned  from  hunting,  and  the  little  circle 
of  ladies  broke  and  dispersed,  some  following  her 
Grace  within,  others  wandering  in  the  gardens  with 
their  lords  and  lovers. 

Fortunately,  Lord  Scrope  continued  still  in  Lon- 
don, so  Anne  Stafford  was  yet  free  to  accept  the 
escort  Prince  Harry  offered  her.  His  Grace  had 
joined  fully  in  the  jests  and  laughter,  and  contrib- 
uted his  share  toward  entertainment  of  the  restless 
Queen.  Nor  had  the  Lady  Anne  shrunk  from  her 
part,  yet  now  they  were  alone  they  both  fell  silent, 
with  thoughts  too  deep  for  mere,  uncertain  words. 
At  last  the  Prince,  sighing,  looked  at  her. 

"Now,  tell  me,  wilt  thou  marry  the  Lord  Scrope? 
Or  is  there,  as  I  thought,  some  deeper  truth  beneath 
the  Queen's  plain  words?" 

She  could  not  tell  him  that  the  countess  had  meant 
to  shield  her  from  himself,  but  answered  simply: 
*T  faith,  my  lord,  there  is  some  truth  in  it.  The 
baron  hath  asked  my  mother  for  mine  hand." 

"And  what's  thy  mother's  will  concerning  thee?" 

"Methinks,"  she  answered,  "that  she  favors  it 
since  Lady  Westmoreland  doth  urge  consent,  yet 


7  6  Every  Inch  a  King 

doth  she  wait  upon  her  daughter's  pleasure,  for,  as 
thou  knowest,  she  truly  loved  my  father,  and  would 
not  have  me  wed  against  my  will." 

"And  thou,  fair  mistress,  what  is  thy  response?" 

She  turned  her  eyes  away  from  him  and  sighed. 
"I  do  not  rightly  know  my  mind  as  yet.  The  baron 
has  been  very  gentle  with  me ;  his  blood  is  noble,  his 
estate  is  high,  his  person  gallant, — and — he  is  thy 
friend." 

The  Prince  gave  a  slight  start  and  said  in  haste : 
"Ay,  he  is  truly  a  good  friend  to  me.  A  man  of 
noble  qualities  and  mind.  A  statesman,  a  brave 
warrior,  and — my  friend." 

He  turned  upon  her  quickly  and  caught  a  glance 
out  of  those  innocent  blue  eyes  of  hers:  "Yet,  is 
there  something  lacking,  fairest  mistress?  Dost 
thou  desire  somewhat  more  than  this  ?  Is  it  not  love 
that  thy  heart  hungers  for  ?" 

"I  do  not  think  Lord  Scrope  hath  that  within 
him!" 

She  spoke  half  bitterly.  She  had  felt  the  passion, 
yet  she  had  conquered  it  within  her  breast.  She 
might  not  wed  the  man  that  she  had  loved,  yet  did 
she  dread  a  marriage  of  pure  form. 

"And  thou,"  she  added  wonderingly,  "methinks 
thou  wouldst  not  have  me  wed  Lord  Scrope,  al- 
though he  is  the  dearest  friend  thou  hast !" 

"No!"  cried  the  Prince  with  sudden  eagerness. 
"He  is  not  first, — there  is  one  man  beside." 

"But  what  is  that  to  me?"  she  asked  him  coldly. 


Every  Inch  a  King  77 

"Tis  much  to  thee — for  he  doth  truly  love  thee." 

Had  the  earth  suddenly  opened  to  receive  her, 
Anne  could  not  have  felt  such  astonishment.  An- 
other suitor — and  this  time  a  lover.  Her  mind  sped 
swiftly  over  the  young  courtiers — who  could  be 
called  Prince  Harry's  intimate?  Never  for  an  in- 
stant did  the  Prince's  own  name  occur  to  ,her  wise 
mind — she  knew  him  well — and  although  she  had 
often  thought  that  he  did  love,  she  knew  that  she 
was  not  the  object  of  it.  Yet  who  but  Scrope,  her 
suitor,  and  Arundel, — that  firebrand  whom  she  had 
never  met, — could  really  be  a  friend  unto  the 
Prince? 

Harry  Monmouth  turned  and  smiled  upon  her. 
"What  sayest  thou  to  a  captive  lover?" 

"The  Earl  of  March,"  she  cried  with  understand- 
ing. And  quick  there  bounded  through  her  memory 
a  thousand  pleasing  fancies  of  the  man.  The  Prince, 
with  a  keen  insight  into  nature,  had  never  wearied 
her  with  praises  of  him,  his  nobleness  had  been  im- 
plied, not  spoken.  At  first,  there  was  no  mention 
of  his  name ;  then,  with  a  sigh :  "Poor  captive  Mor- 
timer— how  dearly  he  would  love  to  feel  this  wind." 
She  asked  him  questions,  and  he  answered  briefly, 
leaving  her  ever  hungering  for  more.  She  begged 
him  for  descriptions  of  the  earl.  His  answer  was, — 
"I  always  see  his  eyes  fixed  on  me  with  a  loving 
sympathy; — how  know  I  whether  they  be  blue  or 
brown?  His  mouth  smiles  at  me,  and  his  hand  is 
gentle; — further  than  this,  I  am  all  ignorance." 


78  Every  Inch  a  King 

She  prayed  to  know  his  age.  "When  I  am  glad, 
he  is  as  merry-young  as  were  a  boy;  and  when  I 
need  his  counsel,  he  is  old.  I  never  asked  him  what 
his  years  might  be."  So,  during  all  their  time  to- 
gether, he'd  told  her  little,  yet  excited  in  her  interest, 
compassion,  and  an  unconscious  depth  of  sympathy. 
And  now  the  time  had  come,  and  Harry  spoke. 

It  was  a  tale  of  love  that  any  woman  might 
listen  to  and  feel  a  stir  of  pride,  and  in  Anne's  heart 
hope  bounded  up  full  high.  This  man,  so  gentle, — 
patient  in  his  prison,  loving  his  captor  with  such  a 
fond  affection,  and  worshipping  a  maiden  seen  in 
the  garden, — choosing  her  freely  among  all  the 
ladies — such  a  lover  awoke  in  her  romantic  mind  the 
great  desire  that  is  born  in  women.  Already  she'd 
put  the  baron  from  her  thoughts,  and  ere  the  Prince 
had  finished  with  his  story,  her  mind  had  pictured  a 
life  of  perfect  bliss — love  in  a  prison,  comfort  from 
her  heart  to  repay  the  earl  for  all  that  he  had  suf- 
fered. Then  came  a  sudden  blot.  What  of  her 
mother?  Harry,  with  eager  eyes,  discerned  her 
thought.  "Lady,  give  answer,  wouldst  thou  wed 
Lord  Scrope?" 

"Never,"  she  cried,  and  turned  with  a  quick  shud- 
der. 

"Thou  mayest  tell  that  to  the  Countess  Stafford. 
As  for  this  matter — trust  it  all  to  me.  Let  all  that  I 
have  told  thee  be  kept  secret,  nor  think  that  I  would 
have  thee  wed  a  captive.  Thy  mother  and  the  King 
shall  be  persuaded;  and  when  the  earl  woos  thee 


Every  Inch  a  King  79 

for  himself,  give  answer  freely  out  of  thy  pure 
heart ;  but  until  then,  keep  thyself  a  maid." 

Anne's  mind  was  in  a  tumult.  She  was  silent,  but 
as  the  Prince  handed  her  a  lighted  torch  she  looked 
into  his  eyes  and  softly  murmured,  ere  she  ascended 
to  her  own  apartment :  "Thou  hast  my  promise  that 
I  will  not  wed." 

They  did  not  see  a  man  in  riding  cloak  standing 
within  the  doorway,  watching  them.  As  the  Prince 
went  to  his  own  chamber  the  watcher  ground  his 
teeth  and  muttered  fiercely:  "An'  I  did  dare  to 
cross  a  sword  with  him,  I'd  challenge  him  before  the 
hour  was  out.  Yet  may  I  die  a  villain  traitor's 
death,  if  I  am  not  revenged  on  Harry  Monmouth." 

The  speaker  was  Henry,  Baron  Scrope  of 
Masham. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Vengeance  is  in  my  heart, 
Death  in  my  hand. 
Blood  and  revenge  are  hammering  in  my  head." 

Trrus  ANDRONICUS. 

Is  there  any  force  in  nature  more  strong  than 
wounded  vanity?  This  was  the  sting-  which  kept 
Lord  Scrope  awake  that  autumn  night.  Anne  Staf- 
ford's words  rang  ever  in  his  burning  ears — "Thou 
hast  my  promise  that  I  will  not  wed."  So,  she 
despised  him,  did  she  ?  Scorned  his  offer,  and  chose 
rather  to  listen  to  the  Prince  in  secret  meetings  and 
sweet  conferences,  than  be  a  wife  unto  a  noble  lord ! 
And  he,  her  lover  (for  so  he  judged  Prince  Henry), 
who  had  pretended  to  be  such  a  friend;  what  right 
had  he  to  linger  with  the  maid,  when  his  alliance 
with  a  foreign  princess  had  that  very  day  been  an- 
nounced in  London! 

Scrope's  former  lady  had  died  five  years  before, 
and  the  baron  now  sought  another  to  govern  his 
great  house  and  many  servants.  He  had  long  ad- 
mired the  Lady  Joan  Holland,  and  he  thought  she 
loved  him.  But  when  Anne  Stafford  had  appeared 
at  court,  during  the  summer  months  so  lately  past, 
he  had  remembered  the  wealth  of  her  mother,  and 
thought  her  winsome  beauty  a  pleasing  contrast  to 
the  magnificence  of  the  other  ladies.  Nevertheless, 


Every  Inch  a  King  81 

he  had  seldom  addressed  her, — when  the  Prince's 
marked  attentions  stirred  within  him  a  sudden 
jealous  resolution  to  win  her  hand.  Not  even  paus- 
ing for  careful  consideration,  he  had  sought  the 
countess  and  made  his  proposition.  My  Lady  of 
Stafford  had  shown  that  she  was  pleased  with  the 
idea,  yet  she  had  not  given  a  free,  unqualified  con- 
sent to  it.  "I  know,  my  lord,  'tis  not  customary  to 
consult  the  maiden,  yet  my  desire  is  for  my  daugh- 
ter's pleasure.  Woo  her,  lord  baron,  and  if  thou 
dost  win  her,  I  will  give  a  dowry  few  kings  can 
equal.  My  consent  shall  follow  upon  hers." 

The  baron  was  not  altogether  pleased  thereat. 
When  they  were  wedded  they  would  be  much  to- 
gether. He  felt  assured  he'd  tire  of  her  quickly  if 
he  must  spend  long  hours  at  wooing  of  her.  His 
anxiety  was  certainly  most  needless.  When  at  the 
court  the  Prince  was  by  her  side.  The  baron's  scowls 
followed  them  about,  yet  he  was  glad  to  ride  with 
Lady  Holland,  and  every  one  supposed  he  was  her 
suitor.  To-night,  however,  he'd  sought  the  mon- 
arch's court  resolved  to  win  the  Lady  Anne  at  once ; 
and  now, — he  turned  upon  his  couch  and  softly 
swore. — Revenge  upon  them  both,  Anne  and  the 
Prince,  that  was  his  only  thought.  He  now  remem- 
bered that  he  had  hated  Harry  Monmouth  for  many 
moons  before  he  thought  of  Anne.  "What  is  this 
man — the  son  of  a  usurper — that  we  should  always 
humble  ourselves  before  him?  By  Heaven,  but  he 
shall  not  be  made  the  king!"  Should  he  denounce 


82  Every  Inch  a  King 

the  Prince  as  a  plain  villain,  and  tell  the  world  he'd 
never  wed  Anne  Stafford  ?  Such  vengeance  would  be 
sweet,  but  the  cost  high.  His  place  as  treasurer  the 
Prince  would  take  from  him,  and  perchance  demand 
to  fight  as  well.  Yet  if  the  King  should  know  their 
resolution  to  place  his  eldest  son  upon  the  throne — 
ay,  that  might  save  his  place,  but  not  his  life!  As 
a  plain  swordsman,  he  knew  the  Prince  excelled 
above  all  nobles  who  composed  the  court.  As  for 
the  lady,  should  he  stoop  to  win  her?  No,  rather 
ruin  her  and  let  her  be.  Yet,  how  could  he  accom- 
plish this  in  safety  ?  Truly,  the  problem  was  full  of 
certain  danger,  and  when  he  rose  to  join  the  hunt- 
ing party,  the  question  was  still  seething  in  his 
brain. 

And  now  fate,  which  determines  many  destinies, 
began  to  play  her  part.  The  Queen,  the  countess 
(Westmoreland's  fair  lady)  ,  and  Anne  Stafford 
were  absent  from  the  party,  but  Lady  Holland  sat 
her  prancing  horse,  her  head  erect,  the  traces  of  her 
tears  concealed  beneath  a  veil  of  finest  lace,  which 
obscured  faults,  but  heightened  her  proud  beauty. 
Then  to  her  side  came  the  Lord  Baron  Scrope — told 
her  he'd  spoken  to  no  person  since  he  came,  but 
sought  her  first,  and  might  he  ride  with  her? 
Wondering,  she  gave  permission,  then  was  silent, 
expecting  he  would  tell  her  of  his  marriage.  But  he 
discussed  with  her  the  London  gossip,  the  weather, 
so  wondrous  warm  for  that  chill  month,  asked  her 
concerning  the  King's  return  to  health,  and  finally 


Every  Inch  a  King  83 

begged  to  know  about  herself.  At  last  she  found 
her  courage  all  returning,  and  smiling  archly,  said, 
as  an  old  friend:  "To  think,  my  lord,  that  thou 
didst  never  tell  me  the  wondrous  news  about  thine 
own  concerns."  And  when  he  prayed  her  for  some 
explanation:  "I  must  congratulate  thee  upon  thy 
bride.  The  Lady  Stafford  announced  to  the  fair 
Queen  that  she  and  thou  were  formally  betrothed." 

Appalled  at  this  sudden  crisis  in  affairs,  and  re- 
membering only  his  resolve  to  ruin  her,  and  to 
denounce  the  Prince,  he  cried  in  haste, — "The  thing 
is  false;  I  will  not  wed  with  her." 

But  ere  he  could  add  some  explanation,  Joan  cried 
passionately : 

"Ah,  I  knew  it!  How  could  I  doubt  the  truth 
for  but  one  instant!  Now  shame  upon  that  lying, 
deceitful  minx!  She  thought  to  shield  herself 
behind  thy  name.  Fancy !  She  knew  of  the  Burgun- 
dian  marriage  from  the  Prince's  lips  before  the  court 
had  news.  The  Queen,  in  fury,  charged  her  with 
dishonor,  and  Lady  Westmoreland,  who  knows  the 
truth,  declared  that  she  would  be  erelong  thy  wife. 
I  could  not  well  believe  that  she  would  dare  to  utter 
such  a  bold,  unvarnished  lie — perchance  she  thought 
to  throw  herself  upon  thy  mercy,  thou  art  so  gallant, 
lord,  toward  fair  women." 

"She  shall  soon  learn  her  error,"  answered 
Scrope.  Quick  as  a  flash  his  plan  of  action  lay  be- 
fore him.  He  had  said  no  word  save  to  declare  that 
they  were  not  formally  betrothed;  nor  would  he 


84  Every  Inch  a  King 

chance  the  anger  of  the  Prince  by  a  plain  denuncia- 
tion of  the  lady.  Rather,  his  part  lay  simply  in 
denial,  and  then  in  silence.  Her  own  actions,  inter- 
preted by  Lady  Holland's  anger,  would  ruin  Anne 
Stafford  as  quickly  as  his  scorn.  For  Henry's  court 
was  austere  in  religious  principles,  and  one  breath  of 
shame  would  mean  the  lady's  dismissal  in  disgrace. 

Joan's  voice  broke  in  upon  the  nobleman's  earnest 
thoughts.  "What  will  your  lordship  say  unto  the 
Queen?" 

'T  faith,  I'll  tell  her  that  the  thing  is  false!" 

"And  let  her  judge  that  Lady  Anne's  done 
wrong?  What  thinkest  thou  Lady  Westmoreland 
will  say?" 

Scrope  flushed  in  some  annoyance.  He  had  for- 
gotten the  countess's  part  in  this.  The  lady  added : 

"I  cannot  understand  why  they  should  choose  thy 
name  for  this  affair." 

Swiftly  he  answered:  "I  can  make  it  plain. 
Thou  knowest  Prince  Henry  will  soon  wed  and  with 
such  haste  that  all  men  are  amazed.  Now  he  would 
greatly  wish  that  Lady  Anne  should  have  an  Eng- 
lish husband  at  the  court — a  husband  who  was  his 
own  nearest  friend,  who  should  be  honored  and  ex- 
alted high,  and  who  in  turn  would  freely  give  his 
wife  into  the  loving  arms  held  out  for  her.  Ah, 
dost  thou  understand  the  matter  now  ?" 

"Thou — his  dear  friend — "  the  lady  gasped,  "the 
plot  was  made — thou  didst  not  know  of  it  ?" 

"Nay,  belike  the  Queen's  suspicions  forced  them 


Every  Inch  a  King  85 

to  act  before  the  hour  was  ripe.  I  have  not  seen  the 
Prince  for  nigh  two  weeks." 

"Would  he  have  dared  to  offer  thee  this  insult?" 

"Ah,  madam,  he  knows  the  love  I  bear  him.  Even 
this  I  would  have  gladly  given  save  for  one  little 
reason  he  knew  not." 

"Thou  wilt  not  do  it  now?"  cried  Lady  Holland. 

"Nay,  mistress,  not  unless  he  forces  me.  Listen, 
fair  lady,  while  I'm  a  free  man,  the  vow  I  made  of 
friendship  to  the  Prince  would  hold  me  even  to  such 
a  shame  as  this.  There  is  one  way  to  save  myself 
from  ruin,  and  yet  to  keep  me  from  this  thing. 
Were  I  to  marry  with  another  lady,  even  before  the 
Prince  had  spoken  to  me,  he  would  be  helpless  to  do 
me  harm.  Thou  knowest,  Lady  Holland,  that  I  love 
thee;  for  weeks  I've  ridden  here  beside  thy  horse, 
longing  to  speak  the  words  that  burned  my  lips,  yet 
daring  not  to  think  that  thou  wouldst  listen.  If 
thou,  in  pity,  wilt  but  give  me  hope — " 

Trembling  with  the  joy  which  seemed  tenfold 
the  greater  after  the  misery  of  the  long  night,  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his,  her  cheeks  flushed  scarlet,  and 
she  held  out  to  him  her  white  hand. 

Eagerly  he  seized  it  in  his  own, — "Lady,  speak! 
I  cannot  believe  such  bliss.  Ah,  what  am  I  that  I 
should  ask  thy  love  ?" 

"A  man,  my  lord,  most  noble  of  our  court.  My 
love  has  been  all  thine  for  many  moons." 

Bending  low  upon  his  horse,  he  kissed  her  hand 
and  murmured  softly:  "My  queen,  thou  fairest  of 


86  Every  Inch  a  King 

the  fair.  Art  thou  indeed  mine  own,  my  future 
bride  ?  Let  us  forget  the  scandals  of  the  court,  for- 
get that  we  did  ever  live  before,  and  look  upon  this 
present  perfect  hour  as  the  beginning  of  our  perfect 
life." 

Thus  rode  they,  side  by  side,  she  blushing  in  her 
happiness,  and  he  murmuring  sweet  nothings  in  her 
ready  ear;  his  thoughts  half  filled  with  the  pleasure 
of  success,  the  wound  to  his  vanity  partly  healed, 
and  yet  his  longing  for  revenge  still  keen,  and  his 
mind  planning  all  that  he  should  say  to  the  Queen 
and  the  Countess  of  Westmoreland. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall." 

MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

WHAT  a  day  was  that  at  Windsor!  For  weeks 
afterward  the  court  was  still  discussing  its  events, 
and  time,  which  solves  all  problems,  seemed  to 
throw  but  little  light  upon  it.  The  Prince  had  had 
a  conference  with  his  father,  and  then  gone  direct  to 
London  on  state  affairs.  But  few  among  the  ladies 
had  joined  the  hunt, — they  lingered  at  the  castle, 
gossiping  about  the  marriages  that  were  to  come. 

The  Lady  Anne  Stafford  left  her  apartment  at  an 
early  hour  and  sought  the  chamber  of  the  Countess 
of  Westmoreland.  Long  were  they  closeted  to- 
gether, their  voices  rising  and  falling  in  evident  ex- 
citement. At  last  the  countess  cried, — "Thou  art 
a  fool !  If  thou  dost  not  wed  him,  thou  wilt  be 
ruined."  Anne's  voice  was  heard  in  low  supplica- 
tion. Then  the  countess's  anger  broke  forth  again, 
but  the  listening  ladies  could  hear  no  words. 

Finally  the  door  was  opened  and  Anne  came 
forth,  her  eyelids  red  from  weeping  and  her  cheeks 
pale,  but  her  head  held  proudly  erect,  her  mouth 
close  shut,  every  line  indicating  her  resolution.  The 
eavesdroppers  shrank  back  in  the  dark  passage  and 
watched  her  with  eager,  curious  eyes.  With  unfal- 


88  Every  Inch  a  King 

tering  steps  she  kept  upon  her  way,  and  finally  stood 
before  the  Queen's  private  room.  She  knocked  and 
asked  for  entrance,  the  chamberlain  answered, — her 
Grace  was  yet  asleep.  Bowing,  she  moved  forward 
to  her  own  apartment  and  firmly  closed  the  door. 
The  bolts  rang  home  and  then  all  was  silent. 

Oh,  woman,  charming  woman,  how  dearly  do  you 
love  a  mystery ! 

How  many  hours,  think  you,  flew  past  before 
these  happenings  were  known  and  were  discussed  by 
every  lady  present  in  the  castle  ?  Only  two  or  three 
had  seen  Anne  Stafford  leave  the  countess's  room; 
but  ere  ten  minutes  had  slipped  away,  twenty  had 
learned  every  detail  of  it.  The  crafty  countess  had 
dismissed  all  her  attendants  upon  Anne's  entrance, 
and  she  now  continued  alone  in  her  chamber,  nor 
did  she  leave  it  for  many  hours  to  come.  None  the 
less,  the  details  which  her  maidens  -furnished  to 
eager  listeners  of  that  exciting  interview  were,  if 
somewhat  lacking  in  veracity,  by  no  means  deficient 
in  imagination.  The  Princess  Margaret  herself, 
having  heard  the  story  from  her  maidens,  felt  that 
the  occasion  justified  her  in  early  leaving  her  apart- 
ments and  mingling  with  the  eager  ladies  of  the 
court.  How  greatly  she  wished  that  her  sister, 
Lady  Holland,  was  present  at  a  time  of  such  excite- 
ment !  And  it  was  Margaret  who  hastened  to  assist 
the  Queen  in  her  toilet,  and  from  her  lips  her  Grace 
first  heard  the  story  of  the  morning's  events. 

A  little  later  an  attendant  told  the  Lady  Stafford 


Every  Inch  a  King  89 

that  her  Grace,  being  informed  of  her  desire  for  an 
audience,  would  receive  her  at  once.  Anne  instantly 
set  forth,  bearing  herself  with  dignity  and  grace. 
Dressed,  as  always,  in  simple,  ungirdled  robes,  her 
white  neck  bare,  her  sleeves  sweeping  the  ground, 
she  presented  a  striking  contrast  to  the  gorgeously 
dressed  ladies,  with  their  bodices  and  stomachers 
richly  ornamented,  and  their  long  trains  heavily 
trimmed  with  fur,  who  were  gathered  near  the 
Queen's  apartments,  chiefly  that  they  might  watch 
her  as  she  passed. 

Her  Grace,  dressed  in  a  rich  gown  of  dark  green 
velvet,  reclined  among  many  cushions,  while  a  lady 
of  the  bedchamber  was  engaged  in  combing  and 
arranging  her  wealth  of  hair.  The  Princess  stood 
by  her  side,  lazily  waving  a  huge  feather  fan,  and 
several  ladies  of  high  rank  were  grouped  about  the 
apartment.  Anne's  swift  glance  made  her  aware 
that  the  Countess  of  Westmoreland  was  absent.  As 
she  courtesied  low  before  the  Queen,  her  Grace  held 
out  her  hand  and  languidly  spoke.  "We  were  in- 
formed, mistress,  that  you  desired  speech  with  us. 
Prithee,  say  on — we  grant  you  leave." 

Anne's  courage  almost  failed  her  before  that  host 
of  eyes,  yet  she  answered  bravely,  in  a  voice  which 
rang  as  clear  and  sweet  as  a  bird's  note:  "Your 
Grace  was  good  enough  to  offer  me,  but  yestere'en, 
your  congratulations  upon  my  future  marriage  to 
Lord  Scrope.  The  announcement,  as  your  Grace 
will,  without  doubt,  remember,  was  made  by  the 


90  Every  Inch  a  King 

noble  Lady  Westmoreland.  When  Lord  Scrope  did 
me  the  honor  to  ask  my  hand,  I  then  did  know 
him  but  slightly,  and  prayed  delay,  that  I  might 
learn  to  love  him.  The  countess  has  insisted  on  the 
marriage,  and  thought,  did  she  announce  it,  I  would 
yield.  And  almost  yield  to  her  I  did;  but  the  long 
night  brought  wisdom,  and  I  am  resolved  that  I  can 
neither  love  nor  wed  the  baron.  My  answer  to  him 
shall  be  sent  this  day,  and  it  behooves  me  so  to  in- 
form your  Grace." 

A  murmur  of  amazement  and  delight  ran  through 
the  room,  then  the  Queen  asked:  "Prithee,  what 
dost  thou  desire,  Lady  Anne?  Dost  thou  scorn  a 
union  with  Lord  Scrope,  the  royal  treasurer? 
Whom  dost  thou  seek?  Thou  canst  not  wed  the 
Prince!" 

Anne's  cheeks  flushed  crimson,  and  she  drew  her- 
self to  her  full  height. 

"Madam,  you  wrong  me  by  such  insinuations.  I 
will  not  wed  a  man  I  do  not  love  were  he  the  highest 
in  the  land.  I  do  not  love  Lord  Scrope.  There's 
one  who  does — why  should  I  keep  her  from  a  happy 
marriage?"  (She  gave  a  meaning  glance  at  Mar- 
garet, which  brought  the  color  to  that  lady's  cheek, 
and  even  the  Queen  smiled  in  understanding.  The 
Lady  Holland's  feelings  were  no  secret.)  "More- 
over, madam"  (Anne  was  braver  now),  "I  do  not 
love  the  Prince,  nor  does  he  love  me.  Your  Grace 
doth  know  the  kindness  he  hath  shown  to  every  lady 
who  is  of  your  court.  Why  should  he  not  show  unto 


Every  Inch  a  King  91 

me  the  same?  Yet,  I  confess,  there  was  a  special 
reason  why  he  sought  me  so  freely;  his  motive  was 
so  honorable  and  gallant,  that  could  I  make  it  known 
unto  your  Grace,  you  sure  would  judge  him  king  of 
noble  men." 

The  Queen's  whole  face  showed  eager  question- 
ing. "What  reason  had  he,  mistress?  Prithee,  tell 
us." 

Anne's  deep  eyes  gleamed  with  mischief,  as  she 
courtesied.  "I  trust  your  Grace  will  grant  to  me 
your  pardon.  The  matter  is  at  present  a  close  secret, 
but  when  I  have  consent  to  make  it  known,  your 
Grace  shall  be  the  first  to  hear  of  it.  Have  I  your 
Grace's  permission  to  withdraw?" 

The  jealous  Queen,  devoured  with  curiosity,  could 
only  bow  assent,  and  feeling  she  had  triumphed  over 
all,  Anne  proudly  passed  the  eager  ladies  and  sought 
her  chamber. 

Ah,  if  she  had  but  known  how  short  this  little 
triumph  was  to  be ! 

******* 

At  nightfall  came  the  hunting  party  back,  and 
with  them  Lady  Holland  and  the  baron.  Anne  was 
amazed  to  see  him  by  her  side,  and  still  more,  when 
Lord  Scrope  said  to  the  Queen:  "Will  your  Grace 
deign  to  wish  me  happiness  ?  The  Lady  Holland  is 
to  be  my  bride." 

"How  now,  my  lord,"  she  answered  in  amaze, 
"but  yestere'en  we  heard  thou  wert  to  wed  the  Lady 
Stafford,  and  to-day  she  tells  us  that  she  will  not 


92  Every  Inch  a  King 

have  thee.    Methinks  thou  hast  lost  no  time  in  thy 
new  wooing." 

"Madam,  the  report  of    my  betrothal  to  Lady 
Stafford  was  not  the  truth." 

"So  she  informs  us,  but  we  understood  you  had 
not  yet  heard  of  her  refusal."  Oh,  how  he  hated 
Anne  when  he  heard  that!  He  almost  threw  his 
caution  to  the  winds  and  cried  out  that  he'd  not  wed 
the  Prince's  mistress,  but  with  an  effort  he  restrained 
himself  and  answered  coldly :  "I  do  not  understand. 
I  never  wooed  the  Lady  Anne  of  Stafford.  Your 
Grace  doth  know  the  Lady  Holland  here  is  she  be- 
side whose  horse  I've  ever  ridden,  is  she  with  whom 
I've  walked  at  eventide.  I  never  sought  to  win 
another  lady." 

Words  are  too  weak  to  picture  the  scene  caused  by 
this  speech.  The  Queen  ca!1ed  Anne  before  her  and 
then  charged  her  with  falsehood,  treachery  and  dis- 
honor. The  Lady  Westmoreland,  being  much 
amazed,  sought  to  defend  her,  and  yet  doubted  her. 
Before  the  torrent  of  the  Queen's  hot  passion  poor 
Anne  could  find  no  word  to  justify  all  that  she  had 
done  and  said,  which  seemed  so  wrong. 

Lord  Scrope,  holding  himself  severely  in  control, 
drew  Lady  Holland  unto  one  side,  and  he  himself 
took  no  further  part.  He  had  made  his  statement, 
he  must  now  be  silent.  Finally  the  King's  voice 
broke  above  the  tumult. 

"This  goes  too  far."  Then  turning  to  the  Queen, 
"Madam,  the  charges  that  thou  makest  against  the 


Every  Inch  a  King  93 

Prince  are  nothing  short  of  monstrous.  We,  our- 
self,  have  often  seen  him  with  this  lovely  maiden, 
and  never  had  we  cause  to  think  him  other  than  a 
pure,  noble-hearted  gentleman.  My  lords  and 
ladies,  this  must  be  kept  close.  Remember  'tis  the 
Prince  of  Wales  ye  slander,  and  no  breath  of  scandal 
must  cloud  his  name.  As  for  the  statement  of  my 
Lord  of  Scrope  we  must  confess  ourself  somewhat 
in  doubt.  Until  the  matter  can  be  sifted  clear,  let 
us  extend  to  him  congratulations  that  he  has  won  so 
beautiful  a  bride." 

While  the  different  members  of  the  court  were 
greeting  the  happy  couple,  Henry  turned  to  the 
trembling  Lady  Stafford.  "As  for  thee,  mistress, 
the  story  that  thou  tellest  is,  we  confess,  one  that 
much  puzzles  us.  We  have  ever  known  Lord  Scrope 
as  honorable,  and  so  must  judge  that  thou  hast  been 
mistaken.  As  for  the  Prince — " 

"Sire,  you  cannot  doubt  my  innocence?" 

"We  do  not  doubt  his,  maiden, — no,  nor  thine. 
But  such  proceedings  must  from  henceforth  cease. 
We  counsel  thy  departure  from  the  court." 

The  lady  spoke  no  word,  save  a  faint  cry;  the 
room  swam  before  her  eyes,  then  all  grew  dark. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

''I  smell  a  device." 

TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

A  WEEK  had  passed  ere  the  court  removed  to  Lon- 
don, and  Prince  Harry  found  space  between  his 
duties  to  attend  the  Queen.  He  was  welcomed  a 
trifle  coldly, — yet  that  had  happened  many  times 
before,  and  caused  him  no  surprise.  He  heard  with 
calmness  of  the  betrothal  of  Lord  Scrope  and  Joan 
Holland,  and  his  congratulations  were  so  hearty, 
that  the  baron  was  greatly  reassured.  Evidently, 
Lady  Stafford  had  not  confided  in  him.  The  Prince 
had  marvelled  when  he  heard  the  news,  yet  since  he 
was  convinced  that  Anne  would  keep  her  word  to 
him,  he  judged  that  the  baron,  upon  her  refusal,  had 
sought  at  once  a  balm  for  his  wounded  feelings,  and 
found  it  with  great  promptness;  and  he  was  glad 
that  his  friend  could  still  be  happy. 

He  was,  indeed,  amazed  on  learning  that  Anne 
had  left  the  court,  but  his  thoughts  swiftly  sug- 
gested an  explanation.  Her  mother  had  much  de- 
sired that  she  should  wed  Lord  Scrope;  therefore, 
when  she  refused  him,  especially  after  receiving  the 
Queen's  congratulations,  the  countess  had  doubtless, 
in  an  hour  of  anger,  determined  that  she  should  no 
longer  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  court. 


Every  Inch  a  King  95 

The  Prince  now  sought  out  Lady  Westmoreland. 
He  knew  that  she  had  been  Anne  Stafford's  friend. 
The  countess  received  him  with  sincere  affection. 
She  had  learned  to  love  and  trust  her  gallant 
nephew,  and  there  existed  a  bond  between  them 
which  often  roused  the  Queen's  jealousy.  She  knew 
her  stepson  had  no  love  for  her. 

"Dear  madam,"  began  the  Prince,  as  he  kissed 
his  aunt's  fair  hand,  "I've  sought  thee,  hoping  thou 
canst  solve  my  many  doubts.  I  learn  the  Lady  Staf- 
ford is  not  here." 

"No,"  answered  the  countess  in  some  embarrass- 
ment (what  if  he  should  demand  the  reason?). 

"Methinks  I  understand  why  she  is  gone.  Did 
she  not  say  she  could  not  wed  Lord  Scrope?" 

"Ay,  didst  thou  know  of  that?  Hast  thou  heard 
all  that  happened,  when  she  gave  him  her  refusal?" 

"Nay,"  answered  the  Prince,  smiling,  "I  have 
heard  naught  of  it,  I  trust  the  scene  was  not  un- 
pleasant for  her,  since  it  was  at  my  wish  that  she 
refused  him." 

"What  dost  thou  mean?"  cried  the  countess, 
startled.  His  wish, — could  it  be  possible  the  Queen 
spoke  truth?  She  gazed  into  his  eyes.  They  were 
troubled,  but  wholly  innocent. 

"Dear  lady,  wilt  thou  keep  the  thing  a  secret?" 
She  promised  breathlessly.  He  smiled  with  pleas- 
ure and  sank  down  on  a  cushion  at  her  feet,  then 
calmly  told  his  story. 

"I  have  a  friend  who  is  as  dear  to  me  almost  as 


96  Every  Inch  a  King 

mine  own  life.  Thou  wilt  be  much  surprised  when 
thou  dost  hear  his  name — it  is  Lord  Edmund  Mor- 
timer, Earl  of  March." 

She  was  amazed.    "He  who  was  Richard's  heir  ?" 

"The  same,  my  cousin;  the  King  made  me  his 
guardian  two  years  since,  and  every  moon  has  but 
increased  my  love.  He  is  a  man  of  noblest  qualities, 
in  person  handsome,  and  wise  beyond  his  age.  He 
is  the  truest  friend  a  man  could  have,  and  I  have 
wooed  for  him  the  Lady  Anne !" 

She  started  to  her  feet.  "He  loves  Anne  Staf- 
ford?" 

"Ay,  madam,  and  doth  seek  her  for  his  wife. 
Sweet  lady,  sit  once  more,  and  listen  to  me." 

She  sank  back  on  her  cushions,  amazed,  de- 
lighted !  "This  was  the  reason  that  thou  wert  con- 
stantly beside  the  lady  ?  Thou  didst  not  love  her  ?" 

"I  love  Lady  Stafford?  Surely  that  were  indeed 
impossible." 

She  faltered  slowly :  "Many  at  the  court  supposed 
that  thou  didst  love  her." 

Harry  raised  his  eyes  and  gazed  at  her  in  much 
astonishment. 

"Is  it  possible  that  any  could  forget  that  the 
Prince  of  Wales  must  marry  for  his  country  ?  Nay, 
dearest  lady,  such  love  is  not  for  me.  My  heart 
must  all  be  given  with  my  hand — unto  the  Princess 
Anne  of  Burgundy.  How  often  have  I  envied  my 
brother  Thomas,  who  did  choose  his  bride  to  please 
himself  alone,  while  I  must  wed  an  unknown,  for- 


Every  Inch  a  King  97 

eign  princess. — But  I  forget  the  story  of  my  friend. 
Since  Edmund  cannot  leave  his  prison  chamber,  I 
pledged  my  word  to  woo  the  lady  for  him.  I  was 
astonished  when  I  learned  of  thine  announcement, 
but  Lady  Anne  confessed  she  did  not  love  the  baron. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  told  her  of  my  mission, 
and  she  hath  promised  that  she  will  not  wed  until 
I  can  prevail  upon  the  King  to  set  the  Earl  of  March 
at  liberty.  Then  shall  he  woo  the  lady  for  himself." 

The  countess  sighed  with  pleasure — she  dearly 
loved  a  romance,  and  her  mind  was  quick  in  its 
sympathy  for  the  captive  lover.  She  greatly  wished 
Anne's  marriage,  and  so  had  favored  Scrope,  al- 
though she  liked  him  not.  The  Prince  continued: 

"I  do  suppose  the  Countess  of  Stafford,  on  learn- 
ing of  her  daughter's  refusal  of  Lord  Scrope,  was 
angered  and  took  her  from  the  court.  Is  this  the 
truth?" 

"Ay,  the  countess  came  and  took  her,  and  she 
was  greatly  angered  at  events."  The  Lady  West- 
moreland gave  her  answer  bravely.  The  Prince 
should  never  know  of  those  sad  days  from  her. 
She'd  tried  to  tell  him,  and  with  entire  innocence  he 
had  misunderstood.  She  knew  no  one  at  court 
would  dare  explain  it — then  let  him  live  in  ignorance 
of  the  truth. 

"Where  has  she  taken  Lady  Anne?"  he  asked. 

The  countess  answered:  "She  hath  been  placed 
in  the  Minories." 

"She  will  not  become  a  nun?"  he  asked  in  haste. 


98  Every  Inch  a  King 

"Methinks  that  it  will  be  her  mother's  wish." 

"That  must  not  be,"  he  answered  with  decision. 
"Would  not  her  mother  yield  to  my  request?" 

The  Lady  Westmoreland  told  him  in  dismay  that 
she  certainly  would  refuse  to  listen  to  him. 

"Now,  on  mine  honor,  she  shall  not  be  made  a 
nun!  Canst  thou  receive  her  and  keep  her  safe 
from  harm?" 

"Thou  knowest  I  must  be  at  the  court.  I  could 
not  shelter  her,"  answered  the  lady,  greatly  dis- 
tressed at  his  determination.  A  moment  he  re- 
mained in  thought,  then  his  face  brightened. 

"Ah,  methinks  that  I  have  solved  the  problem. 
Nay,  lady,  since  thou  canst  not  help  me,  'tis  best  that 
thou  shouldst  be  in  ignorance  of  her  abiding  place. 
I  know  that  thou  wilt  give  her  thy  sympathy." 

"Ay,  and  what  help  lies  in  my  power.  Dost 
think  that  she  will  love  the  Earl  of  March?" 

"It  is  my  dearest  wish,"  answered  the  Prince ;  and 
smiling  in  pleasure  at  the  thought  of  it,  he  left  the 
countess's  side  to  seek  assistance  for  his  future  plans. 
What  he  accomplished  was  unknown,  but  evidently 
he  felt  himself  successful,  for  the  expression  of  his 
face  showed  a  bright  happiness  which  made  men 
wonder.  For  a  brief  space  he  allowed  his  busy  mind 
to  fill  with  happy  dreams.  Lord  Scrope's  marriage 
was  to  follow  very  quickly,  and  Harry  thought  of  it 
with  the  greatest  pleasure.  Then  he  must  persuade 
his  father  to  release  the  Earl  of  March,  and  grant 
him  his  estates — perchance,  on  the  occasion  of  his 


Every  Inch  a  King  99 

royal  marriage  with  the  Burgundian  princess,  the 
King  would  yield.  Then  Anne  and  Edmund  should 
meet  at  last,  and  meeting,  how  could  they  fail  to  love 
each  other? 

The  future  seemed  so  rose-colored  to  the  Prince 
that  he  forgot  his  own  unhappiness.  Thinking  of 
the  love  between  his  friends,  he  almost  forgot  the 
precious  miniature  which  had  brought  him  such 
sweet,  yet  bitter  hours.  His  own  loveless  marriage 
seemed  far  away,  and  even  the  coldness  shown  him 
by  the  nobles,  and  the  undeserved  jealousy  of  the 
King,  which  had  of  late  much  increased  in  strength, 
even  these  seemed  only  fancies  beside  the  realities 
of  his  joyful  thoughts. 

But  even  while  he  lingered  at  the  court,  the  grim 
black  clouds  were  gathering  around  him,  and  the 
gallant  head  which  he  now  held  so  high  was  to  be 
bowed  down  with  misery  and  shame.  The  future 
often  seems  most  brilliant  when  we  stand  upon  the 
threshold  of  our  saddest  days. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"Defend  me  from  my  friends ; 
I  can  defend  myself  from  my  enemies." 

MARSHAL  VILLARS. 

EVENTS  were  moving  quickly  during  the  first  days 
of  December.  The  court  was  all  astir  with  interest 
over  the  coming  marriages,  and  had  not  yet  ceased 
to  discuss  the  sudden  departure  of  Lady  Stafford. 
Moreover,  the  King's  formal  defence  of  the  Prince, 
being  followed  by  an  increased  coldness  toward  him, 
— certain  men  of  the  archbishop's  party  had  been 
emboldened  to  show  the  young  man  open  disrespect, 
which  his  friends  had  resented  with  such  warmth  as 
to  bring  a  rebuke  upon  them  from  the  monarch. 
Then  came  the  news  of  the  capture  of  St.  Cloud. 
The  allied  forces  of  English  and  Burgundians  had 
fought  the  Orleanists  on  November  ninth  and 
gained  a  brilliant  victory.  The  time  now  seemed 
favorable  to  the  Beauforts  for  the  important  step 
that  they  had  so  long  contemplated.  The  Prince's 
wisdom  in  the  Burgundian  alliance  had  been  vindi- 
cated ;  his  marriage  with  the  Princess  would  quickly 
follow.  Already  Richard  Courtenay,  the  famous 
Chancellor  of  Oxford,  had  been  commissioned  to 
treat  with  the  Burgundian  ambassadors  for  its  con- 
summation. Archbishop  Arundel  and  his  party 


Every  Inch  a  King         101 

were  in  retirement,  and  Winchester  did  not  conceal 
his  sense  of  triumph. 

Gathering  the  heads  of  his  party  together  at  his 
palace,  the  doughty  bishop  sent  a  messenger  to  ask 
the  Prince's  attendance,  and  then  addressed  the 
nobles.  "My  lords,  the  hour  for  which  we  have  long 
waited  has  arrived.  Our  policy  has  triumphed  at 
St.  Cloud,  the  nation  waits  with  eagerness  and  joy 
to  see  the  marriage  of  the  Prince  accomplished.  If 
we  can  greet  the  lady  as  our  Queen,  Burgundy  will 
refuse  nothing  that  we  ask  of  her.  The  Prince  will 
join  us  presently,  and  then,  lords,  to  the  King,  and 
may  we  never  rest  contented  until  he  has  granted 
us  his  resignation." 

"Knows  the  Prince  our  purpose?"  asked  Lord 
Scrope. 

"Nay,  baron,  we've  waited  till  the  hour  was  ripe 
for  action.  He  has  a  most  unruly  conscience.  Did 
he  sleep  upon't,  he  might  refuse." 

"Thou  dost  not  fear  he  will  refuse  to-day?" 

The  bishop  laughed.  "Not  as  I  shall  present  it. 
Nay,  my  lords,  my  nephew  is  still  human.  What 
man  among  us  would  decline  a  crown?  Moreover, 
the  King's  scorn  hath  angered  him.  Didst  see  him 
flush  when  Baron  Roos  passed  him  without  a  look  ? 
And  Arundel  said  to  the  King:  'Thy  son  will  rule 
us  after  thou  hast  gone — methinks  that  Falstaff  will 
be  chancellor.'  My  brother  turned  his  back  upon 
the  Prince,  and  Harry  left  the  room  without  a  word. 
Thou  needst  not  fear  he  will  refuse  consent." 


IO2          Every  Inch  a  King 

Then  Suffolk  spoke.  "Were  it  not  well,  my  lord, 
the  arguments  thou  offerest  to  the  Prince,  should 
chiefly  be  that  this  is  necessary  for  England's  good  ? 
I  know  his  Grace  full  well,  and  I  misdoubt  that  he 
is  very  loyal  to  the  King." 

"Thou  needst  have  no  fear,"  cried  Winchester, 
"I'll  put  the  matter  in  such  a  light  that  he  can  find  no 
word  against  it.  Lord  Suffolk,  thou  wilt  help  me,  if 
there's  need?" 

The  earl  smiled  assent,  and  was  about  to  answer, 
but  checked  his  speech,  and  raised  his  hand  for 
silence.  Footsteps  sounded  in  the  passage,  the  door 
was  flung  wide,  and  the  Prince,  attended  by  De  la 
Pole,  entered  the  chamber. 

Each  man  rose  to  his  feet  and  made  as  low 
obeisance  as  if  the  project  was  already  a  success, 
and  he  greeted  the  crowned  monarch.  Henry  of 
Monmouth  received  this  homage  with  a  modesty 
which  well  became  his  greatness;  he  gave  a  happy 
greeting  to  each  one  in  turn,  then  bidding  them  all 
be  seated,  addressed  the  bishop. 

"Cousin,  I  judge  ye  have  more  news  from  France. 
I  am  in  haste  to  learn  the  purport  of  it.  Have  we 
won  yet  another  victory?" 

"Nay,  my  lord,"  Winchester  answered  quickly, — 
"no  post  has  come  to  us  since  Thursday  last; 
we've  sent  for  thee,  sweet  Prince,  on  other  matters 
which  we  desire  to  discuss  with  thee." 

De  la  Pole  had  made  fast  the  door,  and  now  stood 
guarding  it.  The  Prince  raised  his  eyebrows  as  he 


Every  Inch  a  King         103 

noticed  this  precaution,  then  glancing  around  the 
room,  he  asked :  "Why  is  not  my  lord  chief  justice 
here?" 

"We  did  not  think  his  presence  necessary," 
answered  the  chancellor,  and  a  smile  was  visible 
upon  every  face. 

Henry  frowned  slightly.  "And  my  lord,  the 
King  ?  Is  he  too  ill  to  attend  his  council  ?" 

"We  do  not  meet  as  council,"  answered  Winches- 
ter ;  "our  presence  here  lacks  all  formality.  We  have 
a  certain  proposition  to  make  your  Grace;  wilt 
please  you  hear  us  ?" 

"I've  come  at  thy  request  to  listen  to  thee;  speak 
freely,  cousin,  as  has  been  thy  custom."  So  saying, 
the  Prince  drew  off  his  heavy  gloves  of  dogskin, 
seated  himself  where  he  could  see  each  face,  and 
quietly  awaited  the  bishop's  words. 

Winchester  watched  him  anxiously.  His  ques- 
tions had  made  the  prelate  doubtful  of  his  own 
powers  of  persuasion,  but  he  nevertheless  began  his 
argument  with  a  calmness  and  assurance  which  de- 
ceived the  noblemen  about  him. 

"My  lord,"  he  said,  "the  information  which  has 
come  to  us  from  France  is  excellent.  It  seemeth 
reasonable  to  hope  that  your  union  with  the  Princess 
will  speedily  take  place."  (A  slight  shadow  crossed 
the  Prince's  face  at  this,  but  Henry  Beaufort  did 
not  notice  it.)  "We  know  that  'tis  your  Grace's 
desire  to  honor  the  fair  Princess  to  the  utmost.  The 
plan  we  are  about  to  suggest  will  help  you  mightily 


IO4         Every  Inch  a  King 

to  accomplish  this."  The  Prince  merely  bowed  in 
silence,  and  his  uncle  hurried  on.  "Other  considera- 
tions have  led  us  to  this  step.  The  King,  your 
father,  is  growing  constantly  more  ill.  His  strength 
departs  from  him  with  every  new-born  day,  and  he 
is  frequently  unable  to  meet  his  royal  council,  and 
often  most  important  measures  wait  for  weeks  till 
he's  gained  the  health  to  consider  them.  This  is 
unjust  to  our  long-suffering  nation." 

Henry  made  a  quick,  impatient  movement.  "Me- 
thinks  that  I  have  heard  of  this  before ;  prithee,  say 
on,  my  lord,  what  is  your  will  ?" 

"Nay,  pardon  me,  sweet  Prince,"  answered  the 
bishop;  "we  needs  must  tell  thee  all  our  arguments, 
that  thou  mayst  be  convinced  our  course  is  just.  I 
beg  you,  therefore,  to  consider  for  a  moment  the 
vows  your  father  made  when  he  was  crowned,  all 
that  he  promised  to  his  faithful  people,  and  how  he's 
broken  these  promises  on  every  hand,  denied  his 
words,  and  treated  with  injustice  the  very  men  who 
placed  him  on  his  throne." 

The  Prince  rose  to  his  feet  and  answered  sternly : 
"Such  falsehoods,  uncle,  come  with  ill  grace  from 
thee.  If  thou  didst  send  for  me  to  hear  abuse,  I 
prithee  give  me  leave  to  go  from  here,  or  else  let 
these  base  charges  come  from  the  lips  of  one  whom 
I  can  answer  with  my  sword." 

The  Earl  of  Suffolk,  remembering  his  promise, 
came  swiftly  forward.  "Nay,  good  my  lord,  you 
bade  us  to  speak  plainly,  and  you  will  surely  listen 


Every  Inch  a  King         105 

to  us  with  patience.  My  lord,  the  King,  hath  made 
us  very  angry,  when  we  remember  all  that  you 
have  done — your  youthful  victories  over  the  brave 
Welsh,  the  constant  sacrifices  you  have  made,  your 
earnestness  and  wisdom  in  the  council,  your  readi- 
ness to  journey  to  Calais  and  your  just  government 
over  the  Cinque  Ports,  the  pureness  of  your  life — " 

Henry  interrupted  a  trifle  scornfully, — "This 
eulogy  can  only  weary  these  waiting  noblemen. 
Prithee,  on  to  more  important  business." 

Suffolk  hesitated  in  some  dismay,  and  the  chan- 
cellor hastened  to  add  his  voice  to  the  discussion. 
"Your  Grace  is  most  impatient ;  we  love  to  listen  to 
the  earl's  praises.  You  are  the  idol  of  the  people, 
lord,  and  long  ere  this  the  King  had  been  dethroned, 
had  not  the  love  they  bore  you  kept  them  loyal. 
While  your  father  put  all  his  trust  in  you,  and  gave 
you  freely  that  position  to  which  your  abilities 
rather  than  your  rank  entitled  you,  England  was 
content.  But  now,  all  this  is  changed.  The  King 
seeks  to  oppose  your  wisdom  in  the  council;  he 
greets  you  with  a  coldness  that  is  shameful,  and  suf- 
fers without  rebuke  the  insults  offered  you  by  those 
who  should  at  all  times  bow  their  knee  before  your 
greatness.  My  lord,  he  is  ungrateful  and  unjust!" 

The  young  man's  cheeks  were  crimson,  as  he  said 
with  dignity:  "I  fail  to  understand,  lord  chancellor, 
your  object  in  recalling  to  my  mind  the  unpleasant 
memories  I  have  striven  to  forget.  Uncle  of  Win- 
chester, thou  didst  send  for  me  saying  that  matters 


106         Every  Inch  a  King 

of  the  deepest  import  required  my  presence  at  thy 
conference.  As  yet,  ye  have  not  made  your  pur- 
pose known,  and  I'm  weary  of  this  strange  delay." 

"My  lord,"  answered  the  bishop  very  quietly,  "we 
desired  your  Grace  should  understand  the  reasons 
which  have  forced  us  to  follow  the  path  we  are  re- 
solved to  tread.  In  brief,  the  thing  is  this:  The 
English  people  have  become  dissatisfied,  and  they 
are  ripe  for  a  bloody  revolution.  What  we  propose 
is  to  address  your  father,  convince  him  that  he  is 
too  ill  to  rule,  and  peacefully  persuade  him  to  resign. 
The  crown  shall  then  be  placed  upon  your  head  and 
England  will  be  spared  another  war." 

The  Prince  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyes  flashed  as 
he  faced  the  anxious  circle  of  noblemen.  His  voice 
trembled  a  little  as  he  made  his  answer.  "And  did 
ye  think  I  would  agree  to  this?  Ye  do  misjudge, 
my  lords,  if  ye  fear  war.  The  Parliament  which 
made  my  father  king  is  faithful  to  him  still.  There 
is  no  danger  of  civil  revolution.  As  for  myself,"  his 
voice  grew  very  stern,  "ye  have  mistook  if  for  one 
instant  ye  believed  me  a  traitor.  Zounds !  my  lords, 
what  must  ye  think  of  me  to  dare  propose  it !  Why, 
ye  are  mad !" 

A  babble  of  voices  broke  in  upon  him. — "The 
King's  too  ill  to  reign." — "He's  lost  all  wisdom." — 
"Consider,  if  the  Princess  could  be  crowned." — 
"The  King  has  broken  his  vows  and  forfeited  all 
allegiance." — "He  will  not  let  you  govern  as  you 
should." — "He  is  unjust." — "He  suffers  insults  to 


Every  Inch  a  King         107 

you." — "He  listens  to  every  evil  word  against  you." 
— "Think  of  all  that  you  have  done  for  him — " 
"fighting" — "and  ruling" — "and  giving  him  your 
counsel."  "He  is  ungrateful" — "cruel" — "unrea- 
sonable."— "You  shall  have  justice  if  we  die  for  it." 
— "Justice!  Justice!"  cried  every  voice  in  chorus. 

Above  the  tumult  the  Prince's  clear  voice  rang 
out.  "Shame  on  ye,  lords,  that  dare  to  prate  of 
justice,"  he  cried  passionately.  "I  blush  that  I  have 
listened  to  such  words.  Do  I  not  owe  the  King  a 
double  duty,  both  as  his  son  and  as  his  humble  sub- 
ject? What  have  I  done  that  I  deserve  his  grati- 
tude? Fought,  say  ye?  Were  not  his  wars  my 
own,  and  must  I  not  use  my  strength  to  keep  mine 
heritage  ?  Occupied  high  places  in  the  government  ? 
Were  not  these  great  offices  and  powers  my  father's, 
to  bestow  as  he  judged  fit?  Was  it  not  kindness, 
that  he  gave  them  to  me  ?  If  he  should  ask  to  have 
them  back  again,  is't  not  his  unquestioned  right?" 

The  nobles  shrank  from  him  as  Henry's  voice 
rose  higher  in  fierce  earnestness. 

"What  is't  he's  done  that  angers  ye?  He  has 
looked  coldly  on  me  ?  True,  yet  would  he  not  unless 
I  had  done  wrong.  He's  suffered  insults,  say  ye? 
Nay,  but  has  rebuked  those  who,  in  their  unreason- 
ing love  for  me,  would  fain  have  made  me  what  I'm 
not — his  equal.  What  is  there  in  this  that  lacks 
justice  to  me?  If  he  has  been  more  cold  than  I  de- 
serve, why,  he  is  ill;  when  he  is  well  again,  which 
God  grant  soon,  he  then  will  show  once  more  his 


io8         Every  Inch  a  King 

love  for  me.  And,  even  if  he  had  shown  me  injus- 
tice, do  ye  forget  that  I  am  his  son  ?  Am  I  not  bone 
of  his  bone,  flesh  of  his  flesh  ?  Am  I  not  his  own,  to 
use  as  he  desires?  Verily,  if  he  should  slay  me  with 
his  own  hand,  it  would  still  be  his  right !  Oh,  think 
shame,  my  lords,  that  ye  have  dared  propose  this. 
If  the  crown  come  to  me  in  such  a  way,  God  grant 
that  it  may  never  touch  my  head." 

Winchester,  by  this  time  having  regained  his 
breath,  tried  to  use  fresh  arguments,  but  the  Prince 
would  not  listen  to  him. 

"My  lords,  I  will  not  hear  another  word  of  this. 
I  have  refused,  and  so  the  matter's  ended.  Ye  are 
my  friends,  but  remember,  lords,  if  one  of  ye  dare 
to  do  the  slightest  evil  against  my  lord  and  father, 
ye  shall  feel  the  vengeance  that  the  Prince  of  Wales 
pays  to  all  enemies  of  the  King  of  England." 

So  saying,  with  head  uplifted  and  haughty  step, 
the  Prince  departed  from  the  chamber,  leaving  be- 
hind him  the  amazed  conspirators.  His  heart  was 
heavy,  but  it  would  have  been  heavier  still  could  he 
have  seen  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  sink  back  in  his 
great  chair,  and  laugh  aloud. 

"Ah,  what  a  gallant  prince  we  have,  my  lords. 
Didst  mark  the  angry  fire  in  his  eyes?  Well,  he 
shall  be  our  king  within  the  month.  Upon  what  day 
shall  we  request  an  audience?" 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within, 
Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster?" 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

"NAY,  Edmund,  thou  needst  have  no  fears,  I've 
pledged  my  word  that  she  shall  be  thy  bride,  and 
'twill  go  hard  but  I'll  redeem  that  pledge !"  Once 
again,  the  Prince  had  sought  the  earl's  prison 
chamber  to  tell  him  of  the  progress  of  his  wooing. 

Lord  March  was,  not  unnaturally,  much  dis- 
tressed on  learning  that  Lady  Anne  had  left  the 
court,  and  still  more  so  when  he  found  she  had  been 
placed  in  a  nunnery.  Nor  was  he  comforted  by  the 
knowledge  that  Scrope  had  been  her  suitor.  "  Tis 
not  in  reason  that  she  will  refuse  acceptance  of  so 
excellent  an  offer;  my  lord,  thou  hast  made  me 
hope  in  vain." 

"But,  Edmund,"  the  Prince  protested,  "she  hath 
given  me  her  promise  that  she  will  not  wed  until 
thou  art  free  to  woo  her.  Moreover,  the  baron 
marries  Lady  Joan  Holland  ere  the  moon  has 
waned." 

"But  Lady  Anne  may  still  regret  her  promise 
and  learn  to  love  Lord  Scrope." 

"By  Heaven,"  cried  the  Prince  indignantly,  "if 


iio         Every  Inch  a  King 

thou  dost  think  so  meanly  of  thy  sweetheart,  thou 
art  not  worthy  of  the  lady's  love." 

Mortimer  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  crossing  to  his 
friend's  side,  said  as  pleadingly  as  a  girl :  "Forgive 
me,  lord,  it  was  my  jealousy.  Forget  that  I  have 
ever  dared  to  doubt  her.  Yet  when  Lord  Scrope 
of  Masham  cannot  win  her,  what  hope  is  there  for 
captive  Mortimer?" 

"There's  every  hope,"  came  the  hearty  answer. 
"Why,  Edmund,  she  could  not  choose  but  love  thee. 
Nay,  cheerily,  now,  for  thou  shalt  soon  be  free." 
He  hesitated,  then  added  bravely, — "I  do  expect 
my  wedding  will  presently  occur.  The  final  ar- 
rangements are  now  in  progress,  and  I  shall  ask 
mine  honored  father  to  let  thee  join  us  at  the  great 
banquet.  Mayhap  the  Lady  Anne  will  be  there 
also.  Nay,  Edmund,"  hastily,  for  a  flash  of  joy 
came  to  the  other's  face,  "thou  must  not  hope  too 
much.  The  King  has  been  cold  to  me  of  late.  Even 
on  this  occasion,  he  may  not  grant  my  wish,  but 
I  will  use  mine  utmost  power  to  bring  thee  happi- 
ness." 

For  some  moments  both  were  silent,  thinking 
of  the  future;  but  while  the  earl's  thoughts  were 
happy  ones,  a  cloud  settled  on  Harry  Monmouth's 
brow.  It  was  no  longer  possible  to  forget  his  own 
fast  approaching  marriage,  and  to  the  Prince's  mind 
this  event  meant  nothing  but  misery.  Amid  the 
conflicting  standards  of  that  day,  when  those  of 
noble  blood  and  high  position  could  be  corrupt, 


Every  Inch  a  King         1 1 1 

while  the  lower  ranks  must  continue  virtuous,  the 
heir  to  England's  throne  had  placed  a  high  ideal 
before  his  eyes  and  followed  it  with  simple,  stead- 
fast purpose.  Marriage,  to  him,  meant  a  complete 
union,  ending  only  with  death.  He  acknowledged 
to  himself  that  he  had  learned  to  love  the  pictured 
face  he  carried  in  his  bosom.  This  love  he  must 
root  out,  leaving  him  with  a  free,  undivided  heart 
to  give  his  foreign  bride.  He  did  not  dare  to  hope 
that  he  could  love  her,  but  he  resolved  to  show  her 
all  respect,  all  honor,  and  all  possible  affection. 
Naught  but  his  duty  should  keep  him  from  her  side ; 
he  would  play  his  hard  part  so  well,  that  the  world 
would  think  he  fairly  worshipped  her.  In  this  high 
ideal  of  duty  lay  the  reason  he  had  opposed  the 
many  marriages  suggested  by  the  King,  declaring 
that  he  wished  to  choose  his  bride  without  the  aid 
of  courtiers.  But  when  Burgundy  asked  for 
England's  succor,  the  Prince  resolved  to  sacrifice 
himself,  rather  than  lose  the  benefits  of  such  an 
alliance.  It  was  no  small  thing  that  he  gave  up — 
for  from  his  earliest  childhood  he  had  craved  pure, 
unselfish  love;  and  now — he  smiled  in  his  sorrow, 
as  he  suddenly  thought  of  the  young  Princess, — 
was  she,  too,  longing  for  a  love  she  could  not  have? 
Did  she  dread  leaving  her  native  land,  and  was  she 
wondering  what  manner  of  man  was  to  be  her 
husband?  Instantly  there  came  an  imaginary  pic- 
ture of  her  to  his  mind — fresh,  and  fair,  with  wide, 
childlike  eyes,  half-filled  with  terror  of  the  coming 


ii2         Every  Inch  a  King 

future,  shrinking  a  little  as  she  saw  these  strange 
great  Englishmen,  with  their  keen  eyes  upon  her 
— greeting  them  with  a  timid  dignity,  and  ever 
looking  to  lier  mother's  face  for  courage  and 
approval.  "Poor  child,"  the  Prince  murmured 
softly,  and  his  heart  filled  with  ready  sympathy. 

Mortimer  raised  his  head.  "Didst  speak  to  me, 
my  Prince?" 

"Nay,  Edmund,  I  was  thinking  of  my  little  for- 
eign bride.  God  comfort  her  if  she  also  fears  the 
future.  I  wonder  if  I  can  make  her  happy?" 

"Thou  wouldst  make  any  maiden  happy,  dear 
my  lord.  Tis  passing  strange  Anne  Stafford  loves 
thee  not." 

Harry  laughed  merrily,  and  shook  his  head  at 
him.  "Thou  art  a  jealous,  lovesick  swain,  my  lord. 
The  Lady  Stafford  did  scarce  look  at  me.  I  would 
thou  couldst  have  seen  her  face  that  night  when 
I  did  tell  her  that  thou  wert  her  lover.  The  crimson 
dyed  her  lily  cheek  and  neck,  her  eyes  fell  shyly, 
then  again  sought  mine,  to  read  if  I  were  speaking 
all  the  truth—" 

"My  lord,  thou  wilt  make  me  mad,"  the  earl 
cried.  "Methinks  I  cannot  live  another  day  with- 
out a  glimpse  of  my  sweet  Lady  Anne." 

"Thou  must  be  patient,  Mortimer,"  the  Prince 
urged,  smiling.  "No  great  event  can  be  accom- 
plished in  an  hour.  Thou  wilt  enjoy  thy  happiness 
so  much  the  more,  that  thou  hast  waited  for  it. 
We  must  not  risk  approval  of  our  course,  if  thou 


Every  Inch  a  King         113 

art  free  to  wed  her  in  a  month.  But,  Edmund,  I 
have  other  plans  for  thee;  if  these  do  fail,  thou 
needst  not  be  anxious.  We  will  not  let  the  lady 
become  a  nun,  even  if  I  break  mine  honorable 
trust." 

The  earl  was  instantly  eager  and  curious.  "What 
dost  thou  mean?  Ah,  prithee,  tell  me,  tell  me. 
Nay,  then,  thou  shalt  not  rise  from  yonder  seat 
until  thou  hast  explained  these  words  of  thine." 

He  sought  to  seize  his  friend,  but  the  Prince 
eluded  his  grasp,  and  ran  swiftly  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room.  Mortimer  pursued  him,  but  Harry 
was  wonderfully  swift  of  movement  and  not  easily 
caught.  Here  and  there  they  ran,  circling  the 
heavy  oaken  table  many  times,  and  overturning 
whatever  obstacles  lay  in  their  way.  The  earl,  dis- 
hevelled and  excited,  was  breathlessly  denouncing 
his  friend  and  begging  for  confidences  in  the  same 
sentence,  while  the  Prince,  losing  neither  his  calm- 
ness nor  his  perfect  physical  control,  was  running 
and  dodging  with  an  ease  and  grace  of  movement 
which  caused  a  lively  admiration  in  the  panting 
earl's  heart.  This  was  by  no  means  the  first  time 
they  had  tried  each  other's  skill, — like  all  healthy 
young  men,  Harry  dearly  loved  physical  exertion, 
and  excelled  easily  in  the  popular  sports  of  the  day. 
Now,  all  his  gloomy  thoughts  were  gone  in  an 
instant,  and  with  flushed  cheeks  and  laughing  eyes, 
he  threw  his  heart  into  the  play.  The  merriment 
had  reached  its  height  when  a  heavy  knock  fell  on 


ii4         Every  Inch  a  King 

the  oaken  door.  Neither  of  the  young  men  heeded 
it.  The  earl  was  driving  his  guest  into  a  corner, 
and  felt  that  victory  was  sure.  Again  the  knock, 
louder  than  before — the  Prince  had  given  a  sudden 
turn  and  escaped  to  the  centre  again,  the  earl  ran 
slowly  after  him,  almost  helpless  with  laughter. 
This  time,  a  sword-hilt  pounded  on  the  door  with 
a  vehemence  which  made  the  rafters  of  the  room 
tremble  and  ring  with  sound.  The  two  runners 
came  to  a  sudden  stop,  then  Harry  crossed  and 
flung  wide  the  door.  Baron  Scrope  of  Masham, 
wrapped  in  a  riding  cloak,  stood  upon  the  thresh- 
old. His  eyes  sought  his  prince's  flushed  and 
happy  face,  then  with  one  swift,  scornful  glance 
swept  the  disordered  room,  and  rested  curiously 
upon  the  young  earl,  who  leaned  breathless  against 
the  wall. 

"It  pleases  your  Grace  to  spend  your  hours  in 
merry  pastime,"  observed  the  baron,  with  some 
disdain.  He  hated  any  lack  of  dignity,  and  guessed 
that  Harry  had  been  very  free. 

The  Prince's  flush  deepened, — he  was  in  no  mood 
for  scornful  glances,  even  from  a  friend.  "Where- 
fore are  you  here,  my  Lord  of  Scrope?"  he  asked 
with  dignity. 

"The  council  send  by  my  hand  letters  of  impor- 
tance from  Lord  Arundel." 

"Give  them  me,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

They  were  produced  and  Harry  quickly  glanced 


Every  Inch  a  King         115 

at  them,  then  broke  the  seal  of  a  private  missive, 
an  anxious  frown  gathered  on  his  brow.  Here  was 
news  indeed!  The  Earl  of  March  now  came  for- 
ward, and  with  courtesy  invited  the  stranger  to 
enter.  Scrope  would  have  accepted,  for  he  was 
very  curious  as  to  who  this  man  might  be,  but  the 
Prince  raised  his  head.  "Nay,  Edmund,  we  must 
not  tax  thy  hospitality.  My  lord,  descend  and  ask 
one  for  my  horse.  I'll  be  before  you  at  the  western 
gate." 

Reluctantly  the  baron  departed  on  his  mission. 
The  earl  turned  anxiously  to  his  friend :  "Must  thou 
go,  my  lord  ?  There  is  so  much  I  fain  would  say  to 
thee." 

The  Prince  was  silent  for  an  instant,  thinking, 
then  roused  himself  with  a  sigh.  "Edmund,  take 
courage,  all  may  yet  be  well.  I'll  send  thee  word 
if  I  have  any  news  that  doth  affect  thy  interests. 
Farewell,  I  cannot  promise  when  I'll  come  again." 

"Thou  art  troubled,  lord,"  said  Mortimer,  plead- 
ingly. "Ah,  stay  one  hour,  and  let  me  soothe  thee 
as  I  used." 

"Nay,  tempt  me  not,"  Harry  answered  quickly, 
"affairs  of  state  call  me  hence.  I  must  to  London 
to  join  my  father's  council,  and  then,  perchance,  to 
Dover  or  Calais.  I  cannot  tell  thee  of  the  matter 
now,  but  methinks  a  fortnight  will  make  all  right 
again.  Go  within,  Mortimer,  and  so  farewell." 

The  Prince  smiled  brightly,  pressed  his  friend's 


116         Every  Inch  a  King 

hand,  and  closed  the  door  upon  him;  then,  as  he 
hurried  down  the  passage,  he  read  once  more  Arun- 
del's  private  letter: 

.  .  .  "Our  soldiers  are  unpaid,  and  without 
comforts.  .  .  .  The  Duke  John  increases  every 
day  in  hauteur,  and  will  not  even  listen  to  remon- 
strance. Instead  of  completing  arrangements  for 
your  Grace's  marriage,  he  avoids  the  subject,  and 
refuses  to  name  the  date  for  our  departure  as  escort 
for  the  Princess.  ...  If  matters  are  not  mended 
presently,  I  must  request  your  Grace  to  call  me 
back  to  England — mine  honor  and  my  patience 
will  not  brook  that  I  retain  my  post  and  see  our 
country  daily  insulted  in  mine  own  person !"  .  .  . 

The  Prince  crumpled  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and 
groaned.  "My  hopes  have  failed.  The  alliance  will 
be  broken.  My  lord,  the  King,  has  proved  that  he 
was  right — I  am  not  fit  to  lead!  I  have  done 
wrong  and  England  is  disgraced.  Oh,  God,  give 
me  thy  help  in  this  dark  hour!" 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"If  I  am 

Traduced  by  ignorant  tongues,  which  neither  know 
My  faculties  nor  person,  yet  will  be 
The  chronicles  of  my  doing,  let  me  say 
'Tis  but  the  fate  of  place,  and  the  rough  brake 
That  virtue  must  go  through." 

HENRY  VIII. 

THE  fifth  day  of  January,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
fourteen  hundred  and  twelve,  dawned  clear  and 
beautiful.  There  was  a  crispness  and  sparkle  in 
the  air  that  made  one  long  to  be  up  and  doing. 
The  skies  were  blue  and  cloudless,  the  ground  hard 
and  smooth  beneath  the  horses'  hoofs.  Down  a 
white,  winding  road,  came  at  a  brisk  pace  a  little 
body  of  men-at-arms,  a  score  in  number,  mounted 
on  strong,  spirited  steeds,  their  halberds  glistening 
in  the  sunlight.  At  their  head  rode  the  slender, 
upright  figure  of  their  young  commander,  his 
handsome  face  glowing  with  health  and  spirits,  his 
brilliant  eyes  noticing  each  detail  of  nature  and  of 
man,  his  ready  smile  often  on  his  lips  in  answer  to 
the  jests  of  his  faithful  soldiers.  Many  natures  are 
easily  depressed,  while  others  possess  a  buoyancy 
of  spirit  which  nothing  can  destroy.  Henry 
of  Monmouth  was  rarely  fortunate  in  that  he 
belonged  to  this  latter  class.  It  was  two  weeks 


1 1 8         Every  Inch  a  King 

since  he  had  left  London  and  journeyed  to  Dover. 
There  he  had  received  other  letters  from  the  Earl 
of  Arundel,  each  making  it  still  more  evident  that 
the  alliance  with  Burgundy  must  cease.  Had  the 
King  permitted,  Henry  would  have  gone  in  person 
to  woo  his  bride,  but  failing  his  consent,  he  re- 
mained at  Dover,  using  his  utmost  powers  to 
prevent  a  rupture.  Convinced  at  last  that  his 
labor  was  useless,  he  started  on  his  return  to  Lon- 
don, determined  to  urge  the  prompt  recall  of 
the  English  troops.  It  was  no  easy  task  for  the 
high-spirited  young  man  to  go  before  his  father, 
as  he  intended,  and  say:  "My  policy  has  failed; 
and  you  were  wisest  in  that  you  did  oppose  it." 
He  could  not  perceive  that  time  would  vindicate 
his  wisdom,  and  prove  the  greater  failure  of  the 
archbishop's  plans.  He  only  knew  that  he  had 
sought  to  make  England  a  still  greater  nation,  and 
he  had  not  succeeded.  And  the  marriage?  That 
also  was  not  to  be.  For  an  instant  he  had  felt  a 
thrill  of  joy  at  the  thought,  and  taking  the  exquisite 
picture  from  his  bosom  he  had  kissed  it  passion- 
ately. But  this  relief  was  only  for  a  moment — he 
knew  he  must  promptly  seek  another  bride,  for 
every  month  that  passed  without  his  marriage  only 
increased  the  annoyance  of  the  King.  To  whatever 
proposition  his  father  made,  he  was  now  bound  in 
honor  to  consent. 

These  were  bitter  subjects  for  a  young  man's 
thoughts,  and  to  the  Prince  they  brought  the  keen- 


Every  Inch  a  King         119 

est  sorrow  and  anxiety.  To  his  mental  distress  he 
had  added  severe  bodily  fatigue,  for  knowing  that 
the  council  was  to  meet  on  this,  the  fifth  day  of 
the  month,  he  had  determined  to  reach  London 
and  report  to  it,  and  owing  to  delays  at  Dover,  he 
had  only  stopped  two  hours  for  a  night's  rest. 
The  soldiers  with  him,  men  of  brawn  and  muscle, 
who  had  endured  the  privations  of  the  Welsh  cam- 
paigns, were  yet  much  wearied  by  the  hurried  trip, 
and  looked  with  wonder  at  the  delicate  young  man 
who  seemed  as  fresh  and  full  of  life  and  spirit  as  if 
he  had  just  risen  from  a  couch  of  down  and  started 
for  a  hunt. 

As  they  rode  over  the  worn  Roman  pavement  of 
Watling  Street  and  reached  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  Henry  showed  the  greatest  interest  in  his 
surroundings.  Horses,  grazing  in  the  meadows, 
raised  their  heads  to  whinny  at  the  passing  strang- 
ers, herons  and  moor-hens  rose  from  the  brooks 
and  marshes,  and  here  and  there  a  ploughman 
would  cease  his  whistling,  or  a  milkmaid  her  song, 
to  gaze  with  wondering  eyes  after  the  little  com- 
pany. Presently  they  clattered  over  London 
Bridge,  between  the  close-built  houses,  waiting 
a  moment  for  a  boat  to  pass  and  the  drawbridge 
to  swing  back  into  place,  and  during  the  brief  pause 
Henry's  eyes  had  rested  with  evident  abhorrence 
upon  two  human  heads,  weather-stained  and 
pecked  at  by  the  birds,  which  the  executioner  had 
placed  upon  the  central  tower.  His  men,  likewise, 


120         Every  Inch  a  King 

observed  them,  but  with  absolute  indifference — 
the  sight  was  too  familiar  to  cause  even  a  comment. 

After  crossing  the  bridge,  the  party  turned  into 
the  narrow,  dirty,  unpaved  street  of  Upper  Thames ; 
they  were  nearing  their  journey's  end,  and  rode 
more  slowly,  while  the  people  thronged  out  of  the 
shops  and  houses  to  raise  cheer  after  cheer  for 
"Prince  Hal"  and  "Harry  Monmouth."  Every 
man,  woman  and  child  on  Upper  Thames  and  in 
Eastcheap  knew  and  loved  Henry  personally,  for 
he  had  often  wandered  on  foot  through  these 
regions,  mingling  with  the  people  freely,  helping 
their  needs,  and  using  his  utmost  power  to  right 
their  wrongs  and  guard  them  from  injustice.  Little 
wonder,  then,  that  the  men  shouted,  the  women 
waved  their  hands  from  upper  balconies  and  chil- 
dren crowded  about  the  horses'  feet.  Henry  re- 
ceived this  admiration  with  modest  pleasure,  his 
lips  were  parted  in  a  loving  smile,  and  his  eyes 
searched  the  multitude  of  faces  and  seemed  to 
bestow  an  answering  greeting  on  each  one.  Since 
he  had  first  appeared  in  London  as  the  Prince,  at 
the  early  age  of  twelve,  his  popularity  among  the 
masses  had  never  waned,  but  on  the  contrary,  had 
increased  and  deepened  year  by  year,  until  now  he 
was  loved  far  better  than  the  King. 

As  they  rode  on,  passing  with  difficulty  through 
the  crowded  street,  the  outlines  of  a  handsome 
stone  mansion  rose  before  them.  It  stood  upon  the 


Every  Inch  a  King          121 

bank  of  the  Thames,  west  of  the  Swan  Stairs,  with 
the  water  lapping  the  massive  walls  which  rose  four 
stories  in  height,  pierced  by  innumerable  latticed 
windows.  The  long  extent  of  roof  was  broken  by 
pointed  gables,  five  on  each  side,  giving  a  quaint 
and  homelike  effect  rarely  seen  in  London  residences, 
which  too  often  suggested  fortresses.  This  man- 
sion, built  by  Sir  John  Poultney,  four  times  Mayor 
of  London,  and  once  possessed  by  John  Holland, 
Duke  of  Exeter,  had,  upon  his  execution  for  treason, 
reverted  to  the  crown  and  been  granted  by  Henry 
IV.  to  his  eldest  son.  It  was  a  pleasant  sight  to 
many  wearied  eyes,  and  a  grizzled  captain  exclaimed 
with  a  sigh  of  relief, — "Look !  There  is  Cold  Har- 
bor at  last.  By  St.  Anne,  methought  the  Lollards 
had  burned  it  to  the  ground,  we  were  so  long  without 
a  glimpse  of  't." 

The  Prince  answered  gaily  over  his  shoulder, — 
"The  way  is  always  longest  when  we  think  'tis 
ended.  Is  not  thy  chief  desire,  Grafton,  for  a  cup 
of  sack?" 

The  man  laughed  heartily.  "Ay,  captain,  thou 
hast  hit  me  there;  i'  faith,  the  journey's  made  me 
very  thirsty." 

"We'll  open  another  cask  of  the  red  Gascony 
wine  my  father  gave  me,"  answered  the  Prince. 
"Ye've  earned  both  rest  and  favor,  men,  and  I  am 
pleased  with  all  that  ye  have  done." 

What  praise  is  sweeter  to  a  soldier's  ear  than  the 


122         Every  Inch  a  King 

commendation  of  his  general?  The  guardsmen 
flushed  with  happiness  and  felt  repaid  for  all  the 
hardships  they  had  undergone. 

They  rode  between  the  massive  gates  into  the 
courtyard,  and  instantly  all  was  confusion,  as 
servants  poured  out  to  greet  their  master,  some 
leading  away  the  horses,  others  shouting  to  their 
newly  returned  companions,  while  a  few  hurried 
within  doors  to  prepare  a  meal  for  the  hungry 
travellers. 

Henry  did  not  dismount,  but  called  an  esquire 
to  him.  "Where  meets  the  council,  boy?  Is  it 
within?" 

"Nay,  my  lord,  it  meets  to-day  at  Westminster," 
answered  the  lad,  and  would  have  added  more,  but 
Henry  abruptly  wheeled  his  horse. 

Several  who  had  accompanied  him  on  the  jour- 
ney prepared  to  mount  again,  but  the  Prince 
stopped  them.  "Nay,  ye  have  ridden  far,  and  are 
much  wearied.  I  will  not  keep  ye  from  needed  rest 
and  food." 

"My  lord,"  said  an  esquire,  "if  you  will  have 
patience  for  but  an  instant,  we'll  send  for  horses 
and  accompany  your  Grace." 

Henry  shook  his  head.  "The  hour  is  late — I 
must  away  at  once."  And  in  a  moment  he  had 
passed  the  gates,  and  ridden  forth  alone. 

The  street  was  almost  deserted  now,  and  the 
Prince  spurred  his  horse  past  the  crowded  hovels 
of  Upper  Thames,  then  on  by  the  Monastery  of  the 


Every  Inch  a  King         123 

Black  Friars,  the  gloomy  walls  of  the  Fleet,  and 
the  stately  Temple;  finally  he  entered  that  long, 
straggling  highway  known  as  the  Strand,  and  lined 
with  the  mansions  of  the  nobility  and  of  the  high 
dignitaries  of  the  Church.  The  magnificence  of 
their  architecture  was  in  sharp  contrast  to  the 
wretched  buildings  crowding  the  narrow  streets 
within  the  walls,  and  Henry  sighed  a  little,  for  he 
would  gladly  have  done  away  with  poverty.  Guid- 
ing his  horse  with  care,  since  the  street  was  unpaved 
and  full  of  pits  and  sloughs,  he  passed  the  palaces 
with  speed,  frowned  slightly  as  York  Place  came 
in  view  and  he  thought  of  the  old  traitor,  Arch- 
bishop Scrope,  then  reached  at  last  the  palace  of 
Westminster,  the  chief  residence  of  his  royal  father. 
Although  both  the  Tower  and  the  Savoy  were  used 
by  him  at  times,  Westminster  was  the  favorite,  for 
its  situation  on  the  Thames,  surrounded  by  gardens 
and  meadow  lands,  far  out  from  the  throbbing 
city's  heart,  gave  peace  and  rest  to  the  wearied  King. 
The  Prince  had  felt  no  surprise  that  the  council 
was  meeting  here  instead  of  at  Cold  Harbor,  as 
was  its  wont.  "They  thought  I  would  not  have 
returned  to-day,"  he  reasoned.  Riding  through 
the  gates,  and  across  the  drawbridge,  lowered  at 
his  call,  he  dismounted  and  gave  his  horse  into 
a  groom's  charge,  saying,  as  he  patted  the  velvet 
head:  "He's  borne  me  far  to-day,  and  is  much 
wearied.  Look  to  it  that  he  has  ample  food  and 
rest.  I  shall  not  need  him  for  many  hours  to 


124         Every  Inch  a  King 

come."  Then  running  lightly  up  the  steps,  Henry 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  door,  but  it  was  promptly 
opened  from  within,  and  two  knights  of  the  court 
appeared  upon  the  threshold.  They  were  not 
members  of  Archbishop  Arundel's  party ;  but,  seeing 
the  Prince,  they  started,  hesitated,  then  coming 
forward  passed  him  with  averted  heads.  The 
young  man  bit  his  lip,  but  said  no  word,  and 
quickly  entering  the  palace,  strode  down  the  long 
passages  leading  to  the  Council  Chamber.  Before 
the  door,  he  stopped  in  some  surprise; — surely  the 
guard  was  doubled,  and  it  was  not  usual  to  see  the 
captain's  sword  unsheathed, — but  so  slight  a  mat- 
ter was  instantly  forgotten  as  he  recognized  the 
officer,  and  greeted  him  with  a  flashing  smile: — 

"Ah,  Derrbury,  art  thou  on  guard  to-day?  'Tis 
many  weeks  since  I  did  see  thee  last.  Hast  thou 
recovered  from  that  wasting  fever?" 

In  much  embarrassment,  the  captain  stammered : 
"I  thank  your  Grace,  I  am  quite  well  again." 

Henry  looked  amazed  at  his  confusion,  but  con- 
tinued merrily  in  a  lower  tone:  "Has  Mistress 
Alice  consented  to  be  won  as  yet?  Ah,  sir,  thy 
blushes  betray  thee.  I  have  heard  many  tales  of 
this."  Then  he  added  carelessly:  "It  groweth 
late.  Have  the  lords  been  long  in  presence?" 

"About  an  hour,  my  lord,"  faltered  the  officer. 

The  Prince  stepped  forward  to  the  door,  then 
fell  back  in  amazement,  as  the  guards  crossed  their 
halberds  before  him,  and  exclaimed, — "How,  sir- 


Every  Inch  a  King         125 

rahs,  what  means  this  outrage?  Know  ye  what 
ye  do?" 

The  captain  stepped  quickly  forward.  "Your 
Grace's  pardon,  but  you  may  not  enter." 

"What,  /  may  not  enter?  I,  the  Prince?  Derr- 
bury,  thou  art  mad !" 

The  officer  was  very  pale  and  his  eyes  were 
troubled,  for  he  dearly  loved  his  Prince.  "Is  it 
possible,  my  lord,  you  do  not  understand?  You 
have  not  heard?  Nay,  then,  'tis  not  for  me  to  tell 
you.  But  it  is  my  command  your  Grace  shall  not 
pass  through  yonder  door." 

"By  Heaven!  sir,"  cried  the  Prince  hotly,  "dost 
think  to  play  with  me?  Fellows,  stand  aside,  or 
I  will  slay  ye  with  mine  own  hand." 

He  drew  his  sword  and  advanced  upon  them. 
The  guards  hesitated,  yet  stood  their  ground;  but 
ere  he  could  strike  a  blow,  the  youthful  captain  had 
sprung  upon  him  from  behind,  and  with  a  sudden 
movement  dashed  the  sword  from  his  hand.  Then 
standing  before  the  door,  his  own  steel  uplifted,  he 
cried:  "Back,  my  lord,  back,  and  do  yourself  no 
harm!  You  shall  not  enter  save  over  my  dead 
body,  for  if  you  do,  my  head  must  answer  for  it. 
Know,  furthermore,  that  if  your  Grace  persists,  I 
am  commanded  to  arrest  you  and  take  you  to  the 
Tower.  So  says  my  lord,  the  King." 

The  amazed  Prince  had  picked  up  his  fallen 
sword  and  started  to  attack  him,  but  as  the  officer 
proceeded,  his  arm  fell  by  his  side,  and  he  stood 


126         Every  Inch  a  King 

in  silence,  white  to  the  lips.  Then,  with  an  effort, 
he  asked'  steadily:  "Upon  what  charge  wouldst 
thou  arrest  me,  captain?" 

And  Derrbury  answered  gravely :  "That  of  high 
treason  to  my  lord,  the  King." 

Henry  staggered,  as  if  from  a  physical  blow;  his 
sword  rang  on  the  floor,  and  he  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

With  tearful  eyes,  the  captain  came,  swiftly  for- 
ward and  knelt  before  his  Prince.  "My  lord,  forgive 
me  that  I  must  do  my  duty  against  you.  I  love 
you,  and  I  know  that  you  are  innocent.  Would 
to  God  another  held  this  place." 

Henry  raised  his  head — he  was  himself  again. 
Extending  his  hand  to  the  kneeling  officer,  who 
kissed  it  fervently,  he  answered:  "While  thou 
livest,  Derrbury,  I  know  that  I  have  one  true 
friend.  Nor  do  I  trust  thee  less  because  thine 
honor  and  thy  duty  to  my  father  compel  thee  to 
proceed  against  my  person.  But  do  not  grieve  for 
me,  for  'twill  soon  pass.  The  King  has  listened  to 
some  idle  tale  from  one  who  seeks  to  do  me  injury. 
He'll  surely  let  me  prove  mine  innocence.  Dost 
thou  conduct  me  to  the  Tower  at  once,  or  may  I 
have  some  speech  with  friends  before  I  enter  the 
dark  gate?" 

"Nay,"  answered  the  captain  hastily,  "your  Grace 
is  not  my  prisoner.  The  King's  commands  were,  if 
you  did  persist  on  entering  the  Council  Chamber, 
we  should  take  you  captive.  You  have  not  done 


Every  Inch  a  King         127 

so,  therefore,  you  are  free  to  go  wherever  you 
desire, — only  you  must  make  no  attempt  to  see  the 
King." 

The  Prince  breathed  a  short  sigh  of  relief.  "His 
Highness  is  very  kind  in  this,  but  I  have  come  with 
matters  of  importance  that  I  must  place  before  his 
honored  council.  Is  it  permitted  that  I  write  to 
him?" 

"No,  my  lord,"  answered  the  captain  firmly. 

Henry  was  puzzled.  What  harm  lay  in  a  letter? 
He  thought  a  moment,  then  asked,  "Cannot  some 
member  of  the  council  speak  with  me  here?" 

The  captain  hesitated.  "I  do  not  know,  my  lord; 
I  will  propose  it." 

He  gave  a  short  command  to  a  guard,  who 
entered.  The  Prince  leaned  wearily  against  a  win- 
dow ledge,  and  patiently  awaited  his  return.  In 
a  moment  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  sharply 
closed  behind  two  persons,  the  soldier  and  a  young 
man  of  handsome  face  and  figure,  richly  dressed,  at 
sight  of  whom  Henry  sprang  forward,  crying: 
"My  brother  Thomas!  Ah,  thank  God  that  thoti 
hast  come  to  me.  What  have  I  done  that  I  am 
banished  from  our  father's  side?" 

"My  lord,"  answered  Thomas  of  Clarence  hastily, 
"the  council  waits.  I  cannot  stay  to  question. 
What  is  the  message  thou  wouldst  send  by  me?" 

The  Prince  drew  from  his  doublet  several  letters, 
saying  humbly:  "I  have  been  in  constant  corre- 
spondence with  Lord  Arundel.  Tell  the  council 


128         Every  Inch  a  King 

that  I  am  convinced  my  policy  was  not  the  part  of 
wisdom.  The  alliance  with  Burgundy  must  end 
at  once.  I  beg  them  to  recall  our  troops  without 
delay." 

Lord  Thomas  answered  coldly:  "Measures  have 
already  been  taken  to  this  effect,  and  the  King  has 
graciously  received  ambassadors  from  the  Count 
of  Armagnac  requesting  our  assistance." 

Henry  started.  This  was  a  change  indeed.  He 
made  no  comment,  but  held  out  the  letters.  "Give 
these  to  my  lord,  the  King,  and  beg  him  to  examine 
them  with  care." 

Clarence  drew  back.   "I  cannot  take  them,  lord." 

"How  now,"  the  Prince  cried  in  astonishment, 
"there  is  some  mystery  here, — I  prithee  tell  me  why 
am  I  not  permitted  to  send  these,  or  even  a  letter 
of  mine  own,  unto  my  lord,  the  King?  Nay, 
brother,  never  turn  thy  face  away,  but  expound  to 
me  the  meaning  of  this  wonder." 

"Hast  never  heard,"  Thomas  faltered,  "that 
poison  can  be  carried  in  a  letter  as  easily  as  in 
food?" 

"Poison!    I'  faith,  I  am  still  ignorant." 

The  younger  prince  dared  not  meet  his  brother's 
eyes,  but  answered  in  low  tones:  "When  one  is 
proved  a  traitor,  and  desires  a  throne,  if  fair  means 
fail  him,  will  he  not  use  foul?" 

One  instant  Harry  Monmouth  stood  silent, 
horrified;  then  he  cried  sternly — "As  God  lives,  I 
am  innocent,  Clarence!  If  I  have  ever  sought  to 


Every  Inch  a  King         129 

rob  our  father,  yea  even  of  his  very  smallest  honor) 
may  Heaven  keep  me  from  the  throne  of  England ! 
Who  are  my  enemies  that  dare  to  utter  so  base  a  lid 
as  this?" 

"No  enemies,  my  lord,  but  thy  dear  friends," 
Clarence  answered  sadly. 

A  sudden  thought  came  to  the  puzzled  Prince. 
"Tell  me,  brother,  who  are  the  lords  within  yon 
Council  Chamber?" 

"Archbishop  Arundel  is  the  chancellor;  myself 
am  president;  others,  Gascoigne,  Sir  John  Stanley, 
our  cousin  Neville,  and  my  lord  of  Warwick.  The 
Baron  Scrope  remaineth  treasurer." 

Henry  understood,  and  groaned. 

Thomas  faced  him  quickly.  "Knowest  thou  now, 
my  lord,  what  has  been  done?" 

"Ay,  I  do  know  all." 

The  young  Prince  shrank  back  in  sorrow  and 
dismay.  "Oh,  my  lord,  and  thou  didst  swear  to 
me  thine  innocence.  How  couldst  thou  have  sinned 
so  deeply  against  our  father?  Ah,  Harry,  Harry, 
God  forgive  thee  and  keep  thee  from  the  blacker 
sin  of — death." 

Henry  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  answered 
simply:  "Thomas,  mine  uncle,  and  the  other  lords, 
did  tell  me,  with  a  dozen  feeble  reasons,  that  'twas 
their  purpose  to  go  before  my  father  and  ask  him 
to  resign  the  crown  to  me.  I  answered  plainly  I'd 
have  none  of  it;  and  being  certain  the  affair  was 
ended,  I  did  quite  forget  the  matter.  I  do  suppose 


130         Every  Inch  a  King 

they  disregarded  my  desire  and  did  as  they  had 
purposed;  but  for  myself,  I  never  gave  consent,  nor 
would  I  have  worn  the  crown  if  they  had  won  it." 

"My  lord,"  said  Thomas,  "would  they  have 
sought  to  make  thee  King  against  thy  will?  Shall 
we  believe  thy  words  and  doubt  their  actions?" 

"Then  thou  dost  think  I  am  a  traitor,  Clarence, 
and  that  I've  added  to  that  sin  these  lies?  Believe 
it,  if  thou  wilt.  'Twill  but  increase  the  punishment 
that  I  must  bear.  Go,  brother,  and  take  my  humble 
duty  to  our  father.  Tell  him  that  I  will  in  all  things 
obey  him,  and  look  to  Heaven  to  prove  that  I  am 
guiltless.  I  do  suppose  we  may  not  meet  again, 
therefore,  farewell;  God  have  thee  in  his  keeping." 

With  a  heavy  heart  the  Prince  turned  away,  but 
Clarence,  running  forward,  fell  on  one  knee  and 
kissed  his  hand,  crying:  "Thou  art  no  traitor, 
Harry,  but  a  true  prince.  I  would  believe  thy  word 
against  a  thousand,  and  I  will  tell  the  King  that  thou 
art  innocent." 

Henry  smiled  sadly  into  his  brother's  earnest, 
loving  eyes,  and  answered :  "Nay,  speak  no  word 
in  favor  of  me,  or  they  will  say  thou  art  a  traitor 
too.  I  am  content  that  thou  believest  me.  'Tis  well 
thou  hast  my  seat  in  council,  Thomas,  and  God 
grant  thee  greater  wisdom  than  was  mine.  Farewell, 
my  brother,  think  of  me  with  kindness  when  men 
do  charge  me  with  such  villainy." 

When  Thomas  entered  the  Council  Chamber,  hd 
bore  the  letters  from  Arundel,  and  when  the  Baron 


Every  Inch  a  King         131 

Scrope  exclaimed:  "Is't  possible  your  Grace  was 
so  imprudent  as  to  accept  these  letters  from  the 
— traitor? — "  the  young  Prince  turned  upon  him 
haughtily,  and  answered  in  a  tone  they  long  remem- 
bered,— "My  lord  of  Masham,  these  are  from  my 
hand,  and  I  would  die  a  hundred  deaths  before  I 
would  suspect  the  Prince  of  Wales  of  such  a  crime 
as  that !" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"To  say  the  truth,  so  Judas  kissed  his  Master; 
And  cried — all  hail !  whereas  he  meant — all  harm." 

HENRY  VI. 
"Of  two  evils  I  have  chose  the  least" 

PRIOR — IMITATION  OF  HORACE. 

How  difficult  it  is  to  satisfy  a  man  set  on  revenge ! 
His  longings  are,  at  first,  moderate;  but  when  he 
has  achieved  one  step  he  must  on,  nor  will  he  be  con- 
tent until  he's  brought  his  enemy  to  the  depths  of 
disgrace  and  shame. 

The  Baron  Scrope  of  Masham  had  at  first  re- 
solved to  ruin  Lady  Anne  of  Stafford,  and  but  for 
the  King's  stern  interference  would  have  succeeded. 
He  had,  at  least,  driven  her  from  the  court,  and  had 
roused  many  voices  against  her.  Then  he  turned 
his  thoughts  upon  his  friend,  the  Prince.  Already 
the  Queen's  jealousy  had  given  tongue  to  many 
whispered  scandals,  and  these  were  kept  alive  by 
Lady  Margaret,  Clarence's  wife,  and  her  sister,  the 
new-made  Lady  Scrope — her  wedding  had  occurred 
at  Christmas  time,  during  the  Prince's  enforced  ab- 
sence at  Dover.  The  baron  soon  learned  that  his 
lady  shared  his  own  concealed  hatred  of  the  Prince. 
Both  she  and  Margaret  had  chosen  to  consider  them- 
selves slighted  because  Harry  showed  greater  atten- 
tion to  Lady  Stafford  than  to  their  noble  selves. 


Every  Inch  a  King          133 

It  was.  therefore,  an  easy  task  to  keep  the  fires  of 
envy  and  of  malice  burning  fiercely.  Scrope  did  not 
even  let  them  know  of  his  changed  feelings,  and  de- 
fended the  Prince  whenever  they  spoke  against  him, 
yet  he  invented  numerous  causes  for  bitterness.  He 
showed  a  sense  of  grieved  injury  at  Harry's  absence 
on  the  occasion  of  his  marriage,  disregarding  the 
fact  that  he  had  chiefly  urged  the  Prince's  departure. 
He  also  told  Joan,  with  much  reluctance,  that  he  had 
been  slighted  in  presence  of  a  stranger,  and  gave  her 
most  remarkable  accounts  of  Harry's  conduct  in 
Lord  March's  apartments — matters  which  she  de- 
lighted in  discussing  with  "her  dear  friend  and 
namesake,"  the  Queen  of  England. 

But  all  this  was  mere  play  to  the  resourceful 
baron.  His  other  labors  were  more  worthy  of  his 
genius.  On  learning  of  Bishop  Beaufort's  plans,  he 
had  impressed  upon  the  conspirators  the  necessity  of 
convincing  the  King  that  they  had  yielded  to  the 
Prince's  entreaties.  Then,  before  the  appointed  day 
for  action,  he  had  gone  privily  to  the  King  and  be- 
trayed their  purposes,  saying  that  the  Prince  had 
formed  the  plot  himself,  and  that  he,  the  baron,  had 
consented  only  that  he  might  learn  the  worst  and 
warn  his  monarch. 

The  furious  King  rallied  all  his  strength,  and 
when  the  nobles  appeared  before  him  he  answered 
all  their  arguments  with  a  firm  courage  and  strength 
of  indignation  that  amazed  them.  Lord  Scrope  was 
absent,  on  a  plea  of  sickness,  and  Bolingbroke  did 


134         Every  Inch  a  King 

not  betray  his  knowledge,  but  listened  with  apparent 
astonishment,  increasing  to  anger,  and  ending  in  the 
sentence  of  banishment  from  both  council  and  court. 
But  Scrope  remained  lord  treasurer!  None  of 
them  considered  this  as  strange — the  baron  was  not 
with  them,  so  why  should  the  King  suspect  him 
more  than  Gascoigne,  who  was  still  chief  justice? 
They  took  their  punishment  without  complaint,  and, 
being  from  the  court,  they  never  dreamed  of  the 
opinion  which  was  quickly  formed  against  the 
Prince.  They  had  done  no  violence,  nor  were  they 
feared.  They'd  asked  for  the  King's  resignation,  he 
had  refused  and  banished  them  from  his  person; 
there  was  no  calumny.  What  reason,  then,  was  there 
for  treating  the  Prince  differently  ?  They  supposed 
that  he  would  be  dismissed  from  the  council — they 
never  knew  that  every  member  of  that  brilliant 
court  had  heard  within  a  week  that  Harry  Mon- 
mouth  had  sought  his  father's  life,  and  was  now 
plotting,  with  poisonous  drugs  and  witchcraft — yea, 
even  with  his  sword,  to  slay  the  King.  It  was  said, 
his  Highness's  epileptic  fits,  which  had  much  in- 
creased of  late,  were  due  to  the  evil  eye  of  a  London 
witch,  a  boon  companion  of  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
But  such  tales  were  too  vague  and  shadowy — there 
must  be  others  of  more  character ! 

The  baron,  skilfully  playing  his  double  part,  now 
made  a  secret  journey  to  Cold  Harbor.  His  intent 
was  to  see  "his  friend,"  under  the  guise  of  risking 


Every  Inch  a  King         135 

much  for  love,  and  while  he  held  a  proud  place  in 
the  King's  regard,  yet  keep  the  devoted  friendship 
of  the  Prince. 

Harry  received  him  with  much  graciousness.  In 
his  own  heart  his  love  had  somewhat  cooled.  He 
had  thought  the  baron's  marriage  rather  hasty,  since 
he  had  been  so  lately  in  love  with  Anne,  and  he  had 
been  offended  when  Scrope  had  shown  his  scorn 
before  the  Earl  of  March.  Yet  he  had  never  doubted 
him,  and  to-day  he  was  especially  cordial  in  his 
greetings. 

The  baron  had  carefully  prepared  an  explanation 
of  his  remaining  treasurer,  but  he  was  given  no 
chance  to  use  it. 

"My  lord  of  Masham,  thou  art  very  welcome, 
and  I  have  special  cause  to  commend  thy  friendship. 
I  hear  thou  art  still  lord  treasurer." 

"Ay,  my  lord,  your  Grace  must  understand — " 

"I  understand  the  matter  perfectly,"  Harry  in- 
terrupted. "Am  I  not  right  in  thinking  thou  wert 
absent  when  mine  uncle  Winchester  appeared  before 
the  King?" 

"I  was  indeed  absent,"  began  Scrope  reluctantly, 
— but  the  Prince  added  promptly, — 

"Then  thou  alone,  amongst  all  these  my  friends, 
didst  have  sufficient  love  for  me  to  obey  my  desires 
and  forget  thine  own.  Thou  alone  hast  not  stamped 
me  as  a  traitor  to  my  sovereign  lord.  Baron,  I  thank 
thee.  Thou  art  a  true  friend." 


136         Every  Inch  a  King 

Villain  though  he  was,  a  faint  blush  dyed  the 
nobleman's  cheeks  at  this,  and  for  an  instant  he  was 
confused.  But  presently  he  answered  humbly :  "I 
am  rejoiced,  my  Prince,  if  thou  art  pleased.  I  had 
feared  thou  mightst  misjudge  me;  but  upon  mine 
honor,  my  dearest  wish  is  to  serve  your  lordship." 

"And,  my  lord,"  Harry  answered,  smiling,  "he 
serves  me  best  who  doth  perform  my  will.  Thou 
only,  Scrope,  among  that  little  band  whom  I  last  met 
within  the  bishop's  palace — thou  only,  hast  been  ad- 
mitted to  my  presence.  I  sent  mine  uncle  word, 
when  he  came  begging  to  speak  with  me,  that  he  had 
caused  his  sufferings  and  mine,  and  until  I  had  sub- 
duced  mine  anger  against  him,  it  was  not  wisdom 
that  we  two  should  meet.  But  thou,  my  lord,  art 
always  very  welcome." 

Scrope  answered  proudly:  "And  I  shall  often 
claim  that  welcome,  Prince,  although  I  risk  my  head 
to  come  to  thee." 

Harry  looked  up,  surprised.  "What  meanest 
thou?" 

"Nay,"  answered  the  baron,  "I  was  unwise  to 
speak,  but  since  'tis  done,  I  must  fain  make  the 
meaning  clear.  I  grieve  to  tell  your  Grace  the  court 
doth  judge  thee  as  one  who  seeks  to  rob  the  King  of 
life.  Mine  humble  protests  are  of  no  avail"  (he 
had  protested  warmly — he  played  his  double  part 
continually  and  with  the  utmost  skill)  ;  "and  men 
do  think  thou  art  so  wrapped  in  sin,  that  were  it 
known  that  I  had  been  with  thee,  I  fear  the  King 


Every  Inch  a  King         137 

would  take  his  trust  away.  Yet  did  he  slay  me,  I'd 
still  visit  thee." 

He  had  protested  his  love  a  bit  too  much;  the 
words  did  not  ring  quite  true,  and  the  Prince  felt  it ; 
yet  he  would  not  allow  himself  one  doubtful 
thought. 

"Nay,  baron,  I  must  forbid  this  foolish  risk.  Thy 
life  and  services  as  treasurer  are  far  too  precious  to 
toss  into  a  scale  and  be  outweighed  by  the  pleasure 
of  our  meeting.  Come  not  again,  therefore,  till  I 
can  prove  that  I  am  innocent  of  all  these  charges, 
and  we  can  freely  meet  once  more  at  court." 

The  baron  was  far  from  pleased  at  this — it  was 
part  of  his  purpose  to  run  a  little  risk,  and  so  to 
prove  his  friendship  to  the  Prince,  but  he  reflected  it 
might  be  as  well  if  he  yielded  once  more  his  wishes 
to  his  lord's,  and  stayed  away  in  safety. 

The  Prince's  next  words  turned  his  thoughts  into 
a  different  channel. 

"Pray  tell  me  of  my  sovereign  lord  and  father. 
Is  he  at  present  well  ?" 

Scrope's  face  grew  sad.  "I  grieve  to  tell  thee, 
lord,  the  King  is  worse.  These  falsehoods  breathed 
about  thee  much  distress  him,  and  seem  to  give 
strength  to  his  disease." 

Harry  sighed  deeply.  "Thou  dost  make  me  sad; 
my  lord,  use  thy  good  offices  to  win  me  favor.  If 
only  I  might  have  speech  with  him,  I  could  convince 
him  that  I  am  much  wronged." 

"I'll  try  what  I  can  do,  my  lord,  but  yet  I  fear 


138         Every  Inch  a  King 

there's  small  chance  of  success.  Thou  knowest  I 
must  not  presume  upon  his  favor — since  I  am  thy 
friend." 

"Thou  art  right,  baron,  I  had  forgot  the  peril. 
'Tis  best  thou  shouldst  not  even  speak  my  name." 

And  in  his  heart  the  lord  of  Scrope  was  think- 
ing— "  'Twill  be  my  care  thou  dost  not  see  the  King. 
I  know  that  thou  couldst  gain  his  trust  and  love — 
even  to  me  thy  charm  is  dangerous." 

It  was,  in  fact,  so  dangerous  that  the  nobleman 
abruptly  rose  and  said  farewell,  for  Harry's  silvery 
voice  recalled  the  days  when  they  had  sung  together 
on  the  Thames ;  and  Harry's  winning  smile  brought 
back  those  months  when  they  were  fighting  side  by 
side  in  battle,  when  the  Prince's  courage  and  sweet 
cheerfulness  had  stirred  a  genuine  admiration  in  his 
heart.  And  then  there  followed  the  busy  years  in 
London,  and  as  the  Prince  rose  higher  in  power  and 
rank,  he'd  always  given  a  high  place  to  his  friend. 

The  baron  did  not  analyze  the  causes  which  had 
changed  his  shallow  love  to  fiercest  hate,  but  as  he 
increased  in  greatness  and  saw  himself  unloved,  and 
knew  that  he  owed  every  blessing  to  his  Prince,  he 
first  felt  jealous  of  Harry's  popularity,  and  then  his 
pride  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  how  entirely  he  was 
at  the  mercy  of  his  benefactor.  Should  the  Prince 
turn  against  him,  he  would  sink  to  the  oblivion  from 
which  he  came.  True,  his  blood  was  noble,  but 
there  were  many  nobler  still,  and  he  thought  bitterly 
that  there  was  nothing  in  himself  to  lean  upon.  The 


Every  Inch  a  King         139 

Prince  alone  had  kept  him  at  the  head.  Then  came 
the  foolish  jealousy  of  Lady  Anne  of  Stafford.  In 
itself  this  had  been  nothing;  but  the  fact  that  she 
would  lightly  throw  aside  himself  as  husband  for  a 
few  smiles  given  by  the  Prince — this  was  the  spark 
that  lighted  the  long-hidden  train  of  hatred.  In  that 
instant  when  he  overheard  her  words,  he  had  re- 
solved to  prove  that  though  the  Prince  were  ruined, 
he  would  still  be  great.  The  fates  that  rule  all 
destinies  had  taken  his  part.  Surely  they  would  not 
desert  him  now  when  victory  was  so  near.  Many 
were  the  things  to  be  accomplished  before  the  final 
triumph — he  must  be  calm  and  make  each  play  with 
care;  if  he  should  falter  all  might  yet  be  lost. 
Sternly  he  crushed  the  last  faint  protest  of  his  heart 
and  conscience.  If  the  Prince's  presence  weakened 
his  resolution,  he  was  resolved  he  must  not  see  the 
Prince.  Harry  had  given  him  an  excellent  reason — 
had,  indeed,  forbidden  him  to  come  again.  So,  the 
matter  was  settled;  and  now,  onward, — it  was  his 
play,  and  every  card  a  trump ! 

Meanwhile,  Harry  himself  was  pursuing  a  course 
which  gave  excellent  assistance  to  the  baron.  The 
Prince  had  felt  keenly  the  general  distrust  of  him. 
Frank  and  loving  as  was  his  nature,  the  coldness 
shown  him  by  certain  of  the  court  had  tried  him 
sorely.  Although  circumstances  had  prevented  the 
deep  affection  naturally  given  by  a  son  to  his  father, 
he  had  respected  the  King  and  shown  him  all  obe- 
dience. He  had  constantly  excused,  not  only  to 


140         Every  Inch  a  King 

others,  but  to  himself,  the  King's  peevish  temper  and 
ingratitude,  and  he  had  labored  diligently  to  win  his 
affection  and  trust.  The  thought  that  his  father 
could  believe  him  a  traitor  who,  longing  for  his 
throne,  would  seek  his  life,  was  intolerable. 

In  sorrow,  and  almost  in  despair,  the  Prince,  upon 
that  fatal  fifth  of  January,  had  returned  to  Cold 
Harbor,  and,  seeking  his  own  chamber,  had  firmly 
bolted  the  door.  Already  physically  exhausted  from 
his  long  journey,  and  faint  for  lack  of  food,  he  sank 
upon  his  couch  and  abandoned  himself  to  the  keen- 
est mental  suffering.  For  hours  the  tumult  raged 
within  his  breast; — he,  the  Prince,  his  monarch's 
eldest  son,  to  be  turned  from  the  court  in  such  dis- 
grace; to  be  denied  all  intercourse  with  the  King,  and 
to  be  feared  as  a  base  murderer.  "God,  thou  alone 
canst  help  me ;  have  pity  on  me,"  was  his  cry.  And 
yet  he  could  not  still  his  heart  for  prayer,  but  lay 
with  clinched  hands  and  fierce-bitten  lips,  fighting 
against  the  cruelty  of  fate.  How  could  he  ever  prove 
his  innocence  ?  The  stab  had  been  given  by  his  dear- 
est friends.  Who  would  believe  him  if  he  freely 
said  that  he  had  refused  consent  to  Winchester's 
proposal  ?  And  even  if  men  did  believe  the  fact,  he 
could  not  make  them  understand  his  motive.  He 
must  allow  himself  to  be  judged  guilty.  And  of 
what?  A  simple  conspiracy  to  dethrone  his  king? 
Nay,  more,  far  more  than  this ; — he  was  a  son,  veil- 
ing beneath  his  feigned  obedience  a  crafty  longing 
for  his  father's  death.  This  was  what  men  believed. 


Every  Inch  a  King         141 

This  what  the  King  supposed  to  be  the  truth !  And 
now  what  manner  of  life  was  left  to  him  ?  He  had 
been  banished  from  the  Council  Chamber.  He  was 
to  have  no  part  in  the  government.  The  thought, 
startling  in  its  evil  meaning,  brought  him  in  agony 
to  his  feet.  No  part,  no  share  in  anything  pertain- 
ing to  this  land  ?  He,  the  heir  apparent,  to  be  kept 
in  ignorance  of  weighty  measures  and  great  poli- 
cies ?  Must  he  abandon  Calais  and  the  Cinque  Ports 
to  strangers  who  would  rule  for  gain,  and  never 
journey  in  person  to  these  towns?  Men  who  would 
allow  their  stewards  power  to  tax  the  people,  and 
deny  them  justice?  Harry  knelt  before  his  couch 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  arms.  Oh,  his  poor  cities, 
which  he  loved  so  dearly!  But  for  himself — how 
should  he  spend  the  time  if  robbed  of  that  employ- 
ment which  was  almost  life  unto  his  active  spirit? 
Must  he  be  content  to  gossip  at  the  court?  He 
raised  his  head,  dismayed, — even  this  poor,  narrow 
door  to  happiness  was  closed,  and  he  must  not  even 
ask  for  entrance.  A  fierce  longing  filled  his  veins 
with  fire, — to  have  the  love,  the  constant  fellowship 
of  that  pure  maid  whose  image  painted  on  the  piece 
of  parchment  was  now  engraven  on  his  very  heart. 
To  linger  by  her  side  and  gaze  into  those  deeply 
earnest  eyes — would  she  not  wipe  away  his  bitter 
tears?  To  feel  her  delicate  hand  tremble  in  his;  to 
see  that  small,  sweet  mouth  smiling  with  joy  because 
they  were  together  with  their  love!  And  then  to 
press  her  close  and  kiss  those  lips — oh,  was  he  mad, 


142         Every  Inch  a  King 

to  brood  upon  this  folly?  What  place  had  such 
dreams  in  the  breast  of  one  who  stood  before  the 
world  a  miserable  traitor  ?  Only  a  man  of  pure  and 
noble  heart  must  dare  even  to  think  upon  her  vir- 
tues. He  was  unworthy  of  even  this  scant  comfort. 
What,  then,  remained  to  him? — a  gloomy,  useless 
and  impatient  life  within  the  prison  walls  of  a  mon- 
astery,— a  life  upon  which  his  active  spirit  looked 
with  loathing,  or — 

There  sounded  a  heavy  knocking  at  the  door  and 
well-remembered  voices  calling  him: — "My  Lord 
Prince," — "Hal,  art  thou  within?"  "Ho  there,  my 
lord!  What,  art  dead?"  "Hal!  Madcap  boy,  wilt 
thou  not  ope  the  door?" 

For  an  instant  the  Prince  stood  undecided.  Should 
it  be  the  monastery,  or  this  ?  Should  he  confine  him- 
self within  four  walls,  or  live  a  free  life  with  these 
merry  friends  ?  The  knocks  increased  and  made  the 
great  door  tremble.  The  voices  rose  and  fell,  and 
rose  again;  then  Harry  swiftly  crossed  the  room 
and  called  a  merry  greeting  as  he  went.  The  die 
was  cast,  and  he  had  chosen  this ! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"Oh,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath !" 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

A  MONTH  had  passed  since  Scrope's  visit  to  Cold 
Harbor,  and  lying  tongues  had  blackened  the 
Prince's  name  until  that  great  class  of  the  English 
nation,  the  townsmen,  the  merchants  and  the  labor- 
ers— those  who  were  in  future  centuries  to  rise  up 
mightily  and  govern  England — until  these  men 
began  to  shake  their  heads  and  think  that  it  was 
possible  they  had  misjudged  their  hero,  and  that  he 
was  indeed  a  brave  and  brilliant  soldier,  but  yet 
a  weak,  ungoverned,  faulty  man. 

This  belief  was  a  cruel  disappointment  to  the  na- 
tion. They  had  long  ceased  to  love  their  present 
King,  and  had  waited  anxiously  for  the  time  to  come 
when  Harry  of  Monmouth  should  sit  upon  the 
throne.  They  had  thought  that  every  virtue  was 
possessed  by  him,  and  had  been  filled  with  delight  at 
the  knowledge  of  his  approaching  marriage.  But 
now, — the  wedding  would  not  take  place,  the  alli- 
ance with  Burgundy  (the  Prince's  desire)  had 
failed, — and  then  it  was  known  that  he  had  left  the 
council.  The  reason  for  this  was  unexplained,  but 
gossip  said  the  Prince  preferred  to  pass  his  time  in 
idle  pleasure.  Then  came  the  vague  rumors  that 


144         Every  Inch  a  King 

Harry  had  sought  to  take  his  father's  life — the 
greater  number  claimed  the  King's  wine  had  been 
poisoned,  others  whispered  the  Prince  had  drawn 
his  sword  and  had  only  been  prevented  from  his 
purpose  by  courtiers  who  had  wrenched  the  weapon 
from  him!  Men  met  in  taverns  and  discussed  the 
situation  with  gloomy  brows.  The  Prince,  it  was 
known,  had  left  the  court — none  guessed  it  was  by 
the  King's  command — he  was  said  to  have  refused 
to  see  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  and  other  lords,  and 
the  only  explanation  seemed  to  be  that  he  had  re- 
solved to  cast  off  all  his  old  friends  and  abandon 
himself  entirely  to  dissipation.  And  now  it  was 
said  that  he  was  leading  such  a  life  that  men  must 
blush  even  to  speak  his  name. 

The  Prince,  meanwhile,  neither  knew  nor  cared 
what  men  thought  of  his  conduct.  Shut  out  from 
all  his  regular  employment,  forbidden  the  court,  and 
having  there  no  friends  who  ventured  to  come  to 
him  and  comfort  his  distress,  he  felt  that  to  have 
denied  himself  all  pleasure  would  have  been  useless 
and  unnatural.  Many  of  his  hours  were  spent  in 
reading  eagerly  what  books  he  could  procure ;  others 
were  devoted  to  long  rides  and  outdoor  sports; — 
what  harm  if  he  spent  a  few  of  them  in  drinking  and 
making  merry  with  those  London  men  who  were 
devoted  to  him?  He  never  guessed  that  when  he 
dined  in  Eastcheap,  and  when,  at  times,  those  who 
were  with  him  made  too  free  with  the  red  wine,  that 
rumor  made  of  him  a  constant  drunkard ;  that  when 


Every  Inch  a  King         145 

his  friends  engaged  in  a  not  infrequent  contest  with 
the  watch,  he  himself,  though  far  away  at  rest,  was 
called  a  brawler,  and  breaker  of  the  law;  and  when 
once  several  of  them,  hot  with  wine,  had  masked 
themselves,  and  taken  from  some  travellers  the 
wherewithal  to  dine  for  a  few  days,  and  on  the  next 
morning,  the  Prince,  learning  of  it,  had  gone  before 
a  justice  and  out  of  his  own  slender  purse  paid  back 
the  full  sum  to  the  sufferers — on  this  occasion 
rumor  had  declared  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  had 
turned  highwayman  and  spent  his  nights  in  robbing 
all  who  passed! 

England  felt  keenly  the  disgrace  of  it,  and  it  was 
not  long  ere  other  nations  learned  of  these  proceed- 
ings, and  smiled  in  joy; — let  the  King  die  and  this 
wild  Prince  be  crowned,  then  France  need  have  no 
fear  of  her  great  rival,  for  England  would  be  ruled 
by  madmen. 

If  Harry  had  not  been  regarded  as  a  traitor,  those 
nobles  who  loved  him  well — Westmoreland,  War- 
wick, Lord  Cobden,  and  Courtenay,  the  Chancellor 
of  Oxford — these  would  have  gone  to  him  and 
freely  told  him  how  the  people  grieved  over  his  con- 
duct and  implored  him  to  give  up  his  evil  life.  But 
they  dared  not  attempt  to  see  him,  fearing  the  King 
would  have  judged  them  disloyal  to  his  person. 

No  one  felt  more  keen  sorrow  over  the  Prince's 
misdeeds  than  did  his  father.  Bolingbroke  had,  in- 
deed, seen  little  of  his  son,  save  in  the  Council  Cham- 
ber. Their  natures  were  too  utterly  unlike  to  allow 


146         Every  Inch  a  King 

either  cordial  sympathy  or  deep  affection  to  exist 
between  them,  but  even  when  most  jealous  of  his 
successes  the  King  had  been  proud  of  him,  and  now 
his  pride  was  turned  to  bitter  shame.  He  longed  to 
send  for  the  Prince,  give  him  a  fatherly  reproof  and 
urge  him  to  mend  his  ways  before  it  was  too  late, 
but  he  had  been  forced  to  believe  that  such  a  pro- 
ceeding would  be  in  the  highest  degree  dangerous 
to  his  person.  And  now  the  climax  of  his  sorrows 
seemed  at  hand,  for  Lord  Scrope,  the  treasurer, 
arose  in  the  Council  Chamber  and  asked  with  much 
reluctance  whether  any  one  present  had  received 
notices  of  the  receipt  of  moneys  from  the  garrison 
of  Calais.  He  regretted  extremely  the  necessity  of 
making  this  matter  public,  his  personal  love  foi  the 
Prince  was  known  to  all,  but  since  he  had  accepted 
his  high  position  from  the  King,  his  duty  and  his 
honor  forced  him  to  speak  plainly.  He  had  in- 
trusted to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  some  three  months 
since,  a  large  amount  of  money  for  the  payment  of 
the  garrison  at  Calais.  He  had  no  assurances  in  his 
possession  that  this  payment  had  been  made  (which 
was  quite  true,  for  he  had  destroyed  the  papers)  and 
rumors  had  reached  him  that  the  Prince  had  retained 
the  funds  for  his  own  uses.  "Of  course,  such  state- 
ments are  entirely  false,"  Scrope  added  in  haste, 
"the  Prince's  honor  is  above  dispute."  He  hoped 
that  the  lords  might  be  able  to  enlighten  him,  for  it 
was  infamous  that  such  charges  should  be  un- 
answered. 


Every  Inch  a  King         147 

The  gloom  had  deepened  upon  the  King's  brow 
as  he  saw  the  doubt  expressed  in  many  faces. 
Clarence,  flushing  with  anger,  exclaimed  in  scorn: 
"I5  faith,  but  every  tongue  is  ready  to  add  some 
shame  unto  my  brother's  burden,  but  I  did  never 
think  to  hear  proclaimed  a  charge  so  lacking  in  all 
likelihood." 

"Your  Grace  is  right,"  answered  the  baron 
promptly,  "such  rumors  are  the  very  height  of  folly, 
and  for  that  reason  they  must  cease  at  once.  There 
be  men  who  gladly  seize  each  chance  to  poison  every 
mind  against  the  Prince,  but  for  ourselves,  who 
know  his  Grace,  denial  is  needless." 

"Speak  for  thyself,  lord  baron,"  answered  Arch- 
bishop Arundel,  "methinks  my  knowledge  of  the 
Prince  is  excellent;  and  to  me  the  thought  that  he 
has  taken  these  public  moneys  comes  charged  with 
truth.  Is't  not  a  reasonable  thing  that  one  who  spends 
his  nights  and  days  engaged  in  drinking  and  brawl- 
ing, who  even  scruples  not  to  seize  by  force  the  prop- 
erty belonging  to  all  those  who  pass — is't  not 
reasonable,  I  say,  that  such  a  man,  possessing  pub- 
lic funds,  should  freely  use  them  for  his  purposes? 
Belike  thou'lt  find  this  money,  Scrope,  within  the 
taverns — there  to  pay  for  sack  which  Harry  Mon- 
mouth  has  furnished  to  his  friends." 

"Thy  judgment  is  severe,  my  lord  archbishop," 
came  the  calm  voice  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  "The 
charges  thou  dost  bring  against  the  Prince  are 
founded  only  on  the  London  gossip.  Because  we 


148         Every  Inch  a  King 

know  he  sometimes  dines  in  Eastcheap,  accom- 
panied by  Sir  John  Falstaff,  Bardolph,  Poins,  and 
other  men,  more  merry  than  virtuous,  this  is  no 
proof  that  he  has  become  a  drunkard,  or  that  he  does 
delight  to  break  the  law.  The  charge  of  theft 
against  him  is  monstrous!  Methinks  that  did  we 
know  the  truth  of  it,  we  would  be  shamed  for  credit- 
ing such  falsehoods." 

"I  thank  thee,  Beauchamp,  for  those  gentle 
words,"  said  King  Henry,  sighing.  "They  are 
spoke,  we  know,  to  ease  the  sorrows  of  a  father's 
heart.  But  we  may  not  disguise  beneath  kind  words 
the  bitter  deeds  that  wound  our  pride  and  love. 
When  one  becomes  a  traitor,  other  faults  are  but 
attendants  on  that  greater  sin.  Since  we  do  know 
that  Harry  would  gladly  take  our  life  to  gain  the 
crown,  why  should  we  doubt  that  he  would  rob  the 
state?" 

The  youthful  Thomas  of  Clarence  arose  and 
approached  his  father,  saying,  "My  liege,  prithee, 
hear  me.  I  do  know  that  the  Prince,  my  brother, 
is  innocent  and  wronged.  He  never  sought  the 
crown,  much  less  thy  life.  My  uncle  Winchester, 
for  his  own  purposes,  chose  to  demand  thy  resigna- 
tion, and  when  thou  didst  refuse,  he  laid  the  blame 
upon  his  absent  nephew.  This  is  the  truth." 

The  King  glanced  at  his  son  doubtfully,  then  met 
Lord  Scrope's  gaze  and  remembered  the  baron's  be- 
trayal of  the  conspiracy.  "Thomas,"  he  answered, 
"thou  dost  love  thy  brother,  and  willingly  wouldst 


Every  Inch  a  King         149 

believe  him  innocent.  But  we  do  know  that  he  is 
guilty  of  treason  against  us,  for  we  have  proofs  of  it 
thou  knowest  not." 

Clarence  paled  a  little.  "Proofs,  my  lord?  Dost 
thou  then  condemn  him  utterly  ?" 

Before  the  King  could  answer,  Westmoreland 
said :  "My  liege,  were  it  not  justice  that  we  heard 
the  matter?  As  yet,  I  do  believe  him  innocent.  If 
you  have  certain  knowledge  of  his  guilt,  methinks 
you  should  not  conceal  it.  Perchance  the  Parlia- 
ment would  then  consent  to  proclaim  the  Prince 
Thomas  England's  heir.  We  cannot  have  a  traitor 
on  our  throne." 

Clarence  raised  his  voice  in  protest:  "While 
Harry  lives,  I  will  not  take  his  place.  He  is  the 
prince,  and  he  shall  be  the  king." 

But  the  council  did  not  heed  him.  Every  eye  was 
fixed  upon  the  monarch.  Henry  paused  an  instant, 
and  to  Lord  Scrope  it  seemed  eternity  ere  he 
answered  calmly : 

"Cousin  Neville,  the  evidence  I  hold  cannot  with 
wisdom  be  published  to  the  world.  Therefore,  con- 
tent ye  that  I'm  satisfied  my  son  is  guilty  of  the 
charge  against  him;  but  for  the  nonce,  'twould  not 
be  wisdom,  in  our  opinion,  that  Harry  should  be 
punished  publicly.  When  foreign  courts  have 
greater  cause  to  regard  us  with  alarm,  we  can  then 
banish  him  our  shores;  but  until  then  these  matters 
must  be  secret  and  he  remain  the  prince  in  name, 
though  stripped  of  all  his  power.  Should  he  and  his 


150         Every  Inch  a  King 

adherents  join  with  Burgundy  against  our  state,  we 
should  have  cause  to  fear  him.  Therefore,  lord 
baron,  you  need  not  press  your  charge." 

Scrope  smiled  a  little — fate  was  with  him  still,  for 
the  King's  words  had  a  marked  effect — Arundel 
openly  approved  his  monarch's  wisdom,  while  War- 
wick and  Westmoreland  sat  with  gloomy  brows,  and 
even  Clarence  felt  an  instant's  doubt  of  his  brother's 
innocence.  Gascoigne  was  convinced  of  Harry's 
guilt,  and  Sir  John  Stanley  had  never  doubted  it. 
What  wonder,  then,  if  within  a  day  all  London 
knew  that  the  Prince  was  charged  with  using  for  his 
pleasure  public  moneys,  and  fully  half  of  London 
believed  it  to  be  the  truth  ? 

Harry  himself  learned  of  it  while  supping  at  a 
London  tavern.  The  jolly  Falstaff  had  heard  it  in 
the  streets,  and  greeted  his  friend  with  joyful  im- 
pudence :  "Now  what  is  this  I  hear  about  thee,  Hal  ? 
Hast  turned  a  robber  on  thine  own  account?  And 
yet  thou  wouldst  not  join  with  us  for  a  frolic. 
Shame  on  thee  for  a  saintly  hypocrite !" 

"What  meanest  thou,  Jack  ?  What  is  it  thou  hast 
heard  ?"  demanded  the  Prince,  expecting  to  listen  to 
some  jest. 

"Nay,  but  thy  sin  has  found  thee  out  at  last,  and 
all  the  court  is  whispering  the  question — what  has 
become  of  the  moneys  for  Calais  ?" 

Harry  started.    "I  do  not  understand." 

Falstaff  laughed  loudly,  and  his  companions 
joined  him.  "Why,  thou  mad  wag,  dost  think  to  hide 


Every  Inch  a  King         151 

behind  thine  innocence?  Nay,  'twill  not  serve  thee 
here,  I  promise  thee.  The  lords  in  council  are  greatly 
distressed  and  thy  father  weeps  in  shame  for  thee. 
They  have  certain  knowledge  from  Calais  that  thou 
hast  not  paid  the  garrison,  but  keepest  the  money  for 
thine  own  pleasure.  Come,  Hal,  an'  thou  wouldst 
not  be  called  a  false,  ungrateful  friend,  I  prithee, 
share  the  plunder  with  us.  I'm  hard  pressed  for  a 
few  English  crowns." 

The  Prince  flushed  angrily,  and  turning  to  Poins, 
demanded  almost  fiercely:  "Ned,  what  is  there  of 
truth  within  this  lie?" 

"By  our  Lady,  Hal,  but  Falstaff  is  in  earnest.  This 
saying  has  spread  abroad  through  London,  and  the 
chief  justice  is  for  punishing  thee,  but  the  King  will 
not  permit  the  charge.  Natheless,  they  all  believe 
thee  guilty." 

Harry  raised  his  head  proudly  and  answered :  "I 
gave  the  garrison  their  pay  some  three  months  since, 
and  'twas  acknowledged  with  due  formality.  No 
money  has  been  given  me  of  late,  whether  for  Calais 
or  any  other  purpose.  Until  the  matter  is  plainly 
laid  before  me,  I  shall  make  no  attempt  to  prove  my 
cause.  Jack,  Ned,  and  the  rest  of  ye,  I'll  hear  no 
more  of  this.  Come,  sit  ye  down,  and  speak  of  other 
matters." 

But  although  Harry  was  firm  in  his  determina- 
tion not  to  justify  himself,  scorning  to  notice  these 
rumors  and  falsehoods,  the  charges  against  him 
were  promptly  proved  to  be  mere  lies.  It  happened 


152          Every  Inch  a  King 

that  soldiers  of  the  garrison  at  Calais  had  come  to 
London  bearing  important  letters  and  the  news  that 
Earl  Arundel  and  his  forces  would  shortly  sail  for 
England.  These  men,  being  questioned  about  the 
truth  of  the  charges  against  the  Prince,  waxed  very 
angry,  denied  them  utterly,  and  presently  appeared 
before  the  council  and  formally  swore  they  had  re- 
ceived all  payments. 

So  ended  another  play  of  Baron  Scrope's,  to  his 
apparent  joy  but  secret  displeasure ;  yet  the  mischief 
had,  after  all,  been  done.  Men's  minds  were  poi- 
soned with  suspicion  of  Harry  Monmouth,  and  they 
remembered  the  charge,  while  they  forgot  its  false- 
ness. Scrope,  seeing  the  result,  smiled  a  little,  and 
murmured  to  himself — "The  time  is  very  near  when 
I  can  strike — a  little  patience,  and  the  end  will  come. 
Oh,  how  I  long  to  raise  my  voice  and  cry, — 'The 
Prince  is  dead.  Long  live  the  Prince  of  Wales !' ' 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"Sound  the  trumpet ! 

No  true  knight  is  a  tarrier." 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

JULY  had  come  once  more,  that  charming  month 
of  flowers  and  sunshine,  of  glorious  days,  and  cool, 
perfect  evenings,  which  make  the  summer  such 
a  happy  season  for  all  who  crave  a  life  in  the  open 
air.  London  was  well-nigh  deserted  by  those  who 
had  made  it  gay  in  winter  time.  The  King,  moving 
restlessly  over  the  country,  was  living  for  a  time  at 
Greenwich  Manor,  and  thither  the  greater  number 
of  the  court  had  gone.  Other  nobles  had  retired 
to  their  distant  castles;  the  citizens  mourned  their 
loss,  for  the  extensive  trains  of  the  earls  and  bish- 
ops, their  extravagant  dress  and  mode  of  living,  and 
the  gaieties  they  devised,  kept  the  city  in  a  constant 
state  of  wonder  and  delight. 

And  now,  London  would  have  despaired  save 
for  Harry  Monmouth,  who  had  unexpectedly  ap- 
peared and  settled  at  Cold  Harbor  as  if  it  were 
his  intention  to  remain.  He  had  spent  the  spring 
roaming  from  one  royal  palace  to  another,  avoiding 
the  King  and  travelling  very  simply.  He  had  re- 
mained at  Windsor  for  a  time,  hunting  and  seeking 
comfort  and  advice  from  Mortimer,  and  now  he 


154         Every  Inch  a  King 

had  returned  to  that  mansion  which  more  than 
any  other  he  called  his  home.  He  was  welcomed 
joyfully  by  Falstaff  and  his  friends,  but  to-night 
other  men  were  his  companions.  The  great  hall 
was  arranged  for  a  feast,  and  the  blackened  rafters 
rang  with  merriment;  soldier  and  servant  crowded 
one  another  at  the  lower  boards,  while  on  the  dais 
sat  the  Prince  himself,  upon  his  right  and  left  two 
noblemen,  one  having  the  rugged  appearance  of 
a  soldier — both  of  whom  shared  Harry's  own  dis- 
grace of  exile  from  the  court.  Below  them  were 
their  chief  attendants  and  the  officers  of  the  Prince's 
household. 

It  had  been  a  right  merry  evening,  the  bowl 
circling  freely,  and  the  tables  laden  with  abundance 
— for  Cold  Harbor  was  noted  for  its  royal  enter- 
tainments ;  but  Harry  wearied  of  it  early,  and  while 
the  fun  was  still  at  its  height,  he  rose,  motioned 
to  his  two  companions,  and  withdrew  to  his  own 
apartments. 

"My  friends,"  he  said  to  them,  "I  oft  do  love 
this  noisiness  and  laughter,  but  to-night  I  am  sore 
wearied  and  long  for  quietness.  Let  us  depart  the 
house  and  be  alone.  Remain  ye  here  until  I  come 
for  you." 

He  withdrew  and  left  them  silent  and  wondering. 
It  was  months  since  these  two  men  had  been  to- 
gether, and  they  were  friends;  yet  something  in 
their  host's  manner  had  impressed  them,  and  now 
that  they  were  left  alone,  memories  and  thoughts 


Every  Inch  a  King         155 

crowded  too  close  for  speech.  At  length  the  soldier 
broke  the  silence. 

"Dost  thou  remember,  Michael,  how  we  did  sup 
here  with  our  Prince  before  I  left  the  country? 
That  night,  both  Winchester  and  his  brother  were 
of  the  party;  thy  father,  likewise,  and  Baron  Scrope 
of  Masham.  Courtenay  then  made  his  strong 
appeal  to  us  that  we  would  support  him  against 
mine  uncle  and  not  allow  the  metropolitical 
visitation  of  Oxford.  Thou  hast  not  forgot  his 
plea?" 

"Nay,  'twas  well  worthy  to  hold  its  place  in  every 
memory.  Courtenay  is  a  man  of  power,  my  lord." 

"He  is  indeed,  and  the  Prince  loves  him  well. 
Tell  me,  does  he  share  our  banishment?" 

"Nay,  he  was  treating  with  the  ambassadors  of 
Burgundy,  and  so  did  not  go  before  the  King. 
Therefore,  his  Highness  has  disregarded  him,  but 
his  labors  at  Oxford  keep  him  from  the  court." 

The  soldier's  memory  was  evidently  still  engaged 
upon  that  former  evening  at  Cold  Harbor,  for  he 
presently  said, — 

"The  Prince  sang  for  us  then.  How  often  have 
I  thought  of  it  and  longed  to  hear  his  voice  ring 
out  again.  Occleve  was  present — thou  hast  not 
forgotten,  Michael?" 

De  la  Pole  smiled  at  the  recollection.  "Ay,  and 
he  read  a  poem  to  us  in  Henry's  honor.  And  the 
Prince,  reading  the  manuscript  only  once,  brought 
his  harp  and  sang  the  poem  through  without  mis- 


156         Every  Inch  a  King 

take.  That  was  a  happy  evening,  Thomas,  by  my 
faith." 

The  Earl  of  Arundel,  for  he  it  was,  but  lately 
returned  to  England,  sighed  a  little  as  he  answered : 
"How  great  are  the  changes  since  that  merry 
time.  Then  the  Prince's  court  was  larger  than  his 
father's  and  men  desired  only  to  do  him  honor. 
And  now,  we  two  alone  are  left  to  share  his  exile. 
The  hall  where  we  have  supped  to-night  was 
crowded  then,  and  no  man's  place  among  us  was 
assured  unless  he  was  invited  to  Cold  Harbor. 
The  music,  and  the  plays  which  Harry  loved— oh, 
dost  remember  when  we  three  did  act,  and  how  the 
chamber  rang  with  cheers  and  bravos?  Upon 
mine  honor,  those  were  days  of  mirth.  I  would 
that  we  might  live  them  o'er  again !" 

De  la  Pole  laughed  softly. 

"Dost  thou  remember,  Arundel,  our  last  hunt 
together  ?  Thou  hadst  thy  roan  that  thou  didst  love 
well,  and  I  my  black  mare,  who  has  borne  me 
bravely,  and  when  at  last  we  overtook  the  deer,  lo, 
there  was  Harry  Monmouth  upon  foot,  easily  keep- 
ing pace  with  our  steeds,  and  finally  with  his  own 
hand  throwing  the  cord  that  brought  the  deer  to  the 
ground.  I  never  thought  that  a  man  could  be  so 
fleet  of  foot  as  he." 

"Ay,  he  has  run  thus  many  times.  There're 
certain  of  the  court  that  look  with  suspicion  upon  his 
feats.  They  claim  that  there  is  witchery  behind 
them." 


Every  Inch  a  King         157 

"They  are  but  simple  fools,"  the  knight  answered 
scornfully,  "all  men  can  so  develop  their  bodies  if 
they  but  choose." 

"Few  men  have  bodies  knit  so  perfectly  to  be 
developed." 

"True,  in  that  the  Prince  hath  'vantage  over  all, 
but  had  he  not  made  the  best  use  of  it,  in  careful 
training  and  much  exercise,  he  would  have  been 
no  better  than  ourselves.  Dost  thou  recall  the 
tournament  at  Windsor,  and  how  men  wondered 
when  they  marked  his  strength?  It  was  the  day 
that  Scrope  did  fence  against  him.  By  St.  George, 
but  I've  never  seen  a  sight  which  gave  me  greater 
pleasure !  The  baron  was  so  proud,  so  confident 
in  his  strength  and  skill,  so  eager  to  fight  any  one 
of  us,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  Prince 
disarmed  him  and  held  him  at  his  mercy.  Scrope 
gasped,  glared  at  him,  turned  and  walked  away,  and 
will  not  even  let  us  speak  of  it." 

The  knight  chuckled  at  the  thought,  and  then 
frowned  and  made  an  exclamation  beneath  his 
breath. 

The  earl  looked  at  him  quickly.  "Of  what  art 
thinking  now?" 

"Of  Baron  Scrope.    Is  he  a  friend  of  thine?" 

Arundel  laughed.  "Nay,  I  have  all  the  friends 
I  wish  without  him.  I  never  liked  him;  he  is  too 
grave  and  learned,  too  dutiful  and  too  religious  for 
me.  I  cannot  tell  thee  why  it  should  be  so,  but 
I  misdoubt  he  is  not  all  he  seems." 


158         Every  Inch  a  King 

"Excellent,  my  lord,"  cried  De  la  Pole,  "I  echo 
thy  very  words.  Lord  Scrope  and  I  are  ever  at 
sword's  point,  and  yet  he'll  not  consent  to  fight 
with  me.  Zounds !  I  do  believe  him  a  coward  or 
a  traitor !  What  didst  thou  think,  Arundel,  of  his 
remaining  a  member  of  the  council?" 

"Methought  it  strange,  yet  he  did  not  accompany 
thee  before  the  King." 

"Nay,  but  he's  known  as  Harry  Monmouth's 
friend!  Is't  not  odd  the  King  should  honor  him? 
And  then  that  business  of  my  cousin  Anne's.  Hast 
heard  it?" 

The  earl  shook  his  head.  "Dost  mean  the  Lady 
Stafford,  Michael?  I  did  never  meet  her." 

"Ay,  she  it  was.  I'  faith,  I  understand  but  little 
of  the  matter.  One  day,  so  says  my  wife  (for  I  was 
absent),  the  Countess  of  Westmoreland  announced 
that  Lady  Anne  would  wed  the  baron.  Next 
morning  my  cousin  comes  before  the  Queen  and 
says  that  she  has  changed  her  mind  about  the 
marriage  and  will  that  day  send  her  refusal  to  the 
baron.  At  night,  Scrope  rides  back  from  a  hunt 
at  the  side  of  Lady  Joan  Holland  and  tells  the 
Queen  she  is  to  be  his  bride.  And  when  her  Grace 
asked  him  about  Anne  Stafford,  he  swore  that  he 
had  never  sought  to  win  her." 

Arundel  looked  amazed.  "What  dost  thou 
mean?  Was  there  no  more  of  it?" 

"There  were  some  lying  tales  about  the  Prince 


Every  Inch  a  King         159 

and  my  fair  cousin — Bess  would  tell  me  naught,  for 
she  declared  that  they  were  utter  falsehoods." 

"Lady  Elizabeth  has  most  excellent  judgment." 

"F  faith  I'll  tell  my  lady  what  thou  sayest;  'twill 
please  her  well.  The  stories  I  have  heard  have  no 
foundation,  and  I  could  swear  that  every  one  is 
false,  yet  I  confess,  Anne  Stafford  left  the  court 
her  innocence  unproven." 

"And  dost  thou  think  Lord  Scrope  has  wronged 
her?" 

"Ay,  I  do  believe  it,  yet  I  know  not  how.  And 
he  is  wedded,  while  Lady  Stafford  is  placed  in  a 
nunnery.  The  King  himself  dismissed  her  from  the 
court." 

"What  said  the  Prince?" 

"He  knoweth  where  she  is,  but  not  the  reason. 
His  name  was  slandered,  and  his  'father  bade  us 
be  silent.  'Tis  true  he  was  much  with  her,  yet 
methinks  they  neither  of  them  even  thought  of 
love." 

A  moment's  silence,  then  Arundel  spoke.  "I 
would  that  we  could  solve  the  mystery.  I  love  our 
Prince,  as  thou  dost,  and  I  know  that  he  is  far  more 
virtuous  than  other  men.  And  surely  thy  cousin 
Anne  hath  been  wronged." 

"Ay,"  answered  Michael,  "and  I  would  give  half 
my  lands  to  prove  her  innocent,  and  yet  I  see  no 
way." 

"If  the  Prince  knew  all?" 


160         Every  Inch  a  King 

"Well,  dost  thou  care  to  tell  it  him,  Arundel?" 

"No,  on  my  word,"  cried  the  earl,  laughing,  "he 
shall  never  learn  the  story  from  my  lips.  But  thou, 
Michael?  The  lady  is  thy  cousin." 

"Ay,  and  if  she  were  mine  only  sister,  I  would 
not  tell  the  Prince  to  save  her  life." 

"Peace,  then,  or  thou  hast  done  it,  for  he  comes." 

Harry  entered  hastily  and  closing  the  door  be- 
hind him,  came  quickly  forward  with  excitement 
in  his  face. 

"Your  pardons,  that  I've  left  you  for  so  long.  I 
sought  a  craft  that  we  might  spend  an  hour  upon 
the  water,  but  there  has  come  a  letter  that  changes 
all.  What  say  ye,  lords,  wilt  help  me  in  a  venture? 
Ye  are  both  knights  and  bound  to  give  your  aid 
unto  all  damsels  in  distress.  Ye  are  my  only  friends 
and  I  have  sore  need  of  ye." 

"And  thou  mayst  ask  the  hardest  service  of  me, 
and  I  will  give  it  willingly,"  cried  Arundel;  and 
Michael  added, — 

"My  strength,  my  sword,  my  life,  are  in  thy 
keeping — use  them  as  thou  wilt." 

The  Prince  flushed  happily.  It  greatly  pleased 
him  to  have  them  trust  him  thus.  "Nay,  my  dear 
lords,  methinks  that  we  shall  have  no  need  of  blows ; 
now  hearken  to  my  purpose."  And  opening  a  letter 
from  the  Countess  of  Westmoreland,  Harry  read 
as  follows: 

"I  promised  thee,  good  cousin,  all  help  in  my 


Every  Inch  a  King         161 

power  to  keep  a  certain  lady  from  being  forced  to 
sacrifice  her  life  to  Mother  Church.  My  lord,  the 
earl,  has  this  day  received  a  letter  from  his  daughter 
Elizabeth,  a  nun  in  the  Minories,  saying  that  on 
the  morrow  the  Lady  Anne  Stafford  will  take  the 
veil.  His  daughter  adds, — 'She  yielded  with  reluc- 
tance, urged  to  it  by  her  mother,  the  former 
countess,  who,  after  a  final  visit  to  the  convent,  has 
now  returned  to  her  distant  castle.'  I  cannot 
interfere,  my  lord,  thou  mayst  do  what  seemeth 
best  to  thee." 


The  faces  of  the  two  young  men  who  listened  to 
this  epistle  were  a  study.  When  Harry  ceased  his 
reading,  Sir  Michael  turned  his  eyes  away  and 
asked:  "Wouldst  thou  prevent  her  from  becom- 
ing a  nun?" 

"I  would,"  the  Prince  cried  eagerly. 

Then  said  De  la  Pole,  in  a  cold  voice :  "What 
is  thy  reason  for  this  step,  my  lord?" 

The  Prince  glanced  at  him,  astonished  by  his  tone, 
but  answered  promptly:  "Will  ye  both  pledge  your 
honor  to  keep  the  matter  secret  ?" 

They  gave  a  hasty  assent,  and  Harry  continued 
very  quietly: 

"My  well  beloved  friend,  the  Earl  of  March,  de- 
sires Lady  Stafford  for  his  wife.  I've  wooed  her 
for  him,  and  obtained  her  promise  that  she  will 
wed  no  man  until  the  earl  can  gain  his  freedom  and 
offer  her  his  love.  My  father's  banishment  of  me 
from  his  favor  has  kept  me  from  obtaining  Ed- 


1 62          Every  Inch  a  King 

mund's  liberty,  but  'tis  only  for  a  time,  and  until 
the  Lady  Anne  can  know  Lord  Mortimer  and  either 
accept  him  or  refuse  him,  as  she  will,  I  am  resolved 
she  shall  not  become  a  nun." 

As  he  finished  speaking  De  la  Pole  sprang  for- 
ward and  seized  and  kissed  his  hand,  crying, — "I 
thank  thee,  noble  Prince,  for  thy  goodness  toward 
my  cousin.  Tell  us  thy  plans,  and  let  us  haste 
away,  for  it  were  cruel  if  we  came  too  late." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

"Alas !  to-day  I  would  give  everything 
To  see  a  friend's  face,  or  hear  a  voice 
That  had  the  slightest  tone  of  comfort  in  it." 

LONGFELLOW. 

THOSE  were  weary  months  which  Lady  Anne 
Stafford  had  spent  in  the  Minories,  that  famous  and 
influential  convent  belonging  to  the  Franciscan 
Order  of  St.  Clare,  which  was  situated  just  outside 
the  walls  of  London,  near  Aldgate.  It  was  in 
November  when  her  mother,  receiving  Lady  West- 
moreland's message,  left  her  distant  castle  and  came 
hurriedly  to  London.  The  proud,  high-spirited 
woman  was  furious  at  the  treatment  her  daughter 
had  received,  and  no  less  angry  with  Anne  herself. 
Lady  Westmoreland  had  gone  immediately  to  her 
mansion  in  London,  taking  Anne  with  her,  and 
thither  the  countess  came.  The  blood  of  her  father, 
the  royal  Duke  of  Gloucester,  and  her  mother, 
Eleanor  Bohun,  coheir  of  the  proud  Earl  of  Here- 
ford, was  throbbing  in  her  veins,  and  she  had  scarce 
patience  to  listen  to  her  hostess's  story.  She  re- 
peated with  the  utmost  haughtiness  the  statement 
that  Baron  Scrope  had  asked  her  daughter's  hand 
some  months  before,  but  she  was  deaf  to  Lady 
Westmoreland's  suggestion  that  she  should  appear 
at  court  in  defence  of  Anne, 


164         Every  Inch  a  King 

"Never!  I  know  the  Queen  too  well  for  that. 
Dost  think  that  I  desire  a  rebuke?  Oh,  Scrope  doth 
know  that  he  is  safe  from  vengeance.  Her  father 
is  dead,  Humphrey  has  seen  but  ten  short  years. 
We  have  neither  kith  nor  kin  nearer  than  thy  hus- 
band and  his  sons,  or  Michael  of  Suffolk.  There 
is  no  person  to  defend  this  maiden,  so  Scrope  may 
speak  his  lies  without  restraint." 

"Thou  knowest,"  answered  Joan  Beaufort, 
soothingly,  "that  Richard,  my  eldest  son,  is  but 
twelve  years  of  age,  while  my  lord's  sons  by  Lord 
Stafford's  sister,  John  and  Ralph  of  Oversley,  are 
married  and  busied  with  their  wives  and  households. 
'Tis  thy  misfortune,  lady,  not  our  fault,  that  Anne's 
fair  name  cannot  be  cleared  by  the  sword." 

"Her  fair  name,  forsooth!  Scrope's  death  could 
never  clear  it.  Ay,  mistress,  thou  mayst  blush  with 
shame !  Didst  then  consider  a  few  smiles  from  the 
Prince  a  worthy  fate  for  one  whose  blood  was  noble 
as  thine  own?" 

Anne  raised  her  head  with  gentle  dignity.  "Dost 
thou  doubt  me,  mother, — thine  only  daughter?" 

"For  what  reason  didst  linger  with  the  Prince? 
Come,  answer.  'Tis  rumored  that  thou  didst  in- 
form the  Queen  that  Prince  Harry  had  a  purpose  in 
thus  seeking  thee.  If  thou  canst  clear  thyself,  I 
prithee,  do  it." 

Anne  had  turned  very  pale,  but  she  answered 
firmly:  "I  cannot  tell  thee,  mother,  of  the  reason 
until  the  Prince  permits.  He  has  my  promise  that 


Every  Inch  a  King         165 

I  will  keep  the  matter  a  close  secret,  and  thou  know- 
est,  madam,  a  Stafford  never  breaks  a  pledge  once 
given." 

The  countess  flushed  and  was  for  an  instant 
silenced,  for,  since  she  had  promptly  consoled 
herself  for  the  earl's  death  by  marrying  William 
Bourchier,  she  had  forfeited  the  right  to  the  proud 
name  of  Stafford,  although  she  chose  to  retain  her 
title  and  live  upon  her  great  estates  until  her  son 
should  come  of  age. 

Lady  Westmoreland,  who,  although  she  had  not 
yet  seen  the  Prince,  was  convinced  that  Anne  was 
greatly  wronged,  seized  the  opportunity  to  begin 
a  vigorous  defence  of  the  maiden,  but  the  mother 
interrupted  angrily, — "What  right  hadst  thou  to 
give  thy  word  unto  the  Prince?  Fie  on  thee — 
these  excuses  serve  for  nothing!  Dost  think  that 
I  can  soon  forget  what  thou  hast  done?  Refused 
a  marriage  with  a  nobleman  in  favor  at  the  court 
and  of  high  rank,  a  union  of  which  thou  mightst 
well  be  proud,  and  by  thy  refusal  bring  on  thyself 
the  charge  of  evil  relations  with  our  Prince.  By 
Heaven,  I  had  supposed  that  he  of  all  men  at  the 
court  was  most  virtuous!" 

"And  so  he  is,  madam,"  cried  his  loving  aunt. 
"Whatever  Harry's  purpose  was,  be  sure  that  'twas 
all  nobleness  and  honor." 

"Mayhap  thou  art  right,"  answered  the  lady, 
mollified.  "It  may  be  that  I  have  misjudged  them 
both;  but,  Anne,  thy  conduct  is  not  less  blamable, 


1 66         Every  Inch  a  King 

for  even  if  thou  art  wholly  innocent,  the  court 
doth  think  thee  guilty,  and  thou  hast  dragged 
thy  father's  name  into  the  dust.  Thou  shalt  have 
no  further  opportunity  to  bring  upon  thee  such 
suspicions.  Thou  shalt  be  placed  within  the 
Minories." 

With  dismay  upon  her  face,  Anne  made  a  vigor- 
ous protest  and  Lady  Joan  added  her  plea,  but  the 
countess  was  inexorable. 

"Nay,  thou  shalt  go,  and  there  the  matter  ends. 
But  as  thou  bearest  thyself  within  the  convent,  I 
will  determine  thy  plan  of  future  life." 

At  first,  therefore,  Anne  was  far  from  hopeless 
over  her  situation.  She  submitted  quietly  to  the 
new  life,  trusting  that  her  mother  would  relent,  and 
feeling  confident  that  the  Prince  would  not  allow 
her  to  be  made  a  nun, — she,  indeed,  looked  almost 
daily  for  rescue.  As  time  went  on,  however,  and 
she  received  neither  message  nor  visit,  her  heart 
sank  within  her.  Then  came  the  news,  discussed 
even  within  the  cloister  walls,  thai  Harry  had  left 
both  council  and  court  and  abandoned  himself  to 
pleasure.  Anne  was  not  slow  to  perceive  that  this 
meant  the  delay  and  probably  the  failure  of  what- 
ever plans  he  had  made  for  her.  While  he  was 
living  such  a  life  how  could  he  persuade  the  stern 
King  to  grant  Lord  March's  release  ?  And  this,  she 
understood,  was  the  first  step  that  must  be  taken 
before  her  own  freedom  could  be  accomplished. 
At  first,  she  blamed  the  Prince  for  not  breaking  his 


Every  Inch  a  King         167 

trust  and  setting  the  earl  free,  but  she  soon  realized 
that  the  King  would  only  set  about  his  recapture 
and  confine  him  more  strictly  than  before,  and  her 
marriage  would  be  more  hopeless  than  ever. 

It  was  at  this  period  of  her  discouragement  that 
her  mother  came  to  the  convent,  not  indeed  to 
restore  her  freedom,  but  to  urge  upon  her  the 
wisdom  of  taking  the  veil.  The  countess's  anger 
had  long  since  died  away,  and  she  made  it  plain  that 
she  entirely  trusted  her  daughter.  "But  remember," 
she  said  quietly,  "my  single  word  cannot  prove 
thine  innocence  unto  the  court.  There  it  is  still 
supposed  thou  hast  done  wrong,  and  even  were  the 
Queen  to  receive  thee  again,  how,  thinkest  thou, 
would  other  ladies  treat  thee?" 

Anne  sighed.  She  knew  only  too  well  the  jeal- 
ousies and  suspicions  of  the  court.  "Nay,  madam," 
she  answered,  "I  have  no  desire  to  lead  again  that 
restless,  unnatural  life.  Prithee,  take  me  back  once 
more  to  Stafford  Castle  and  let  me  live  there  quietly 
and  in  peace." 

The  countess  looked  amazed.  "Why,  who  would 
seek  thee  there  to  marry  thee?  By  my  troth,  fair 
daughter,  thy  future  looketh  black.  While  at  the 
court,  Lord  Scrope  asked  for  thy  hand,  and  thou 
didst  deny  him.  It  was  unwise  in  thee,  ay,  most 
imprudent.  Even  had  not  the  Queen  sought  to 
sully  thy  fair  name,  it  were  unlikely  another  noble 
gentleman  would  seek  thy  hand  when  there  was 
chance  of  such  rebuke.  And  now  that  thou  art 


1 68         Every  Inch  a  King 

looked  upon  askance,  what  lord  would  dream  of 
asking  thee  in  marriage?" 

Anne's  heart  sank  lower  and  lower.  For  an  in- 
stant she  meditated  breaking  her  promise  and 
telling  Lady  Stafford  of  Lord  March — surely  the 
Prince  would  pardon  this  betrayal.  Then,  like  a 
sword-thrust  in  her  heart,  came  a  doubt  of  Morti- 
mer's love.  "Did  he  know  all,  would  he  not  scorn 
to  think  of  me?  How  can  I  ever  hope  for  marriage 
with  him — I  who  have  been  sent  disgraced  from 
court?" 

Her  mother  watched  the  crimson  rise  and  fade 
in  her  cheeks,  the  quiver  of  her  lips  and  the  bright 
tears  which  sparkled  in  her  clear  eyes,  and  putting 
out  her  arms,  drew  her  into  a  motherly  embrace. 

"Sweetheart,  thou  needst  not  weep.  Tis  not 
thy  fault  that  the  Prince  was  unwise  in  his  gracious 
favors,  but  I  do  blame  his  Highness  very  greatly. 
He  must  have  known — " 

"Thou  shalt  not  blame  him,  mother,"  cried  the 
maiden  hastily,  and  raising  her  head  from  the  coun- 
tess's breast, — "Prince  Henry  is  the  very  soul  of 
honor,  and  no  man  equals  him  in  loving  friendship. 
When  he  did  learn  his  friend  the  E — "  she  checked 
herself  hastily,  and  hid  her  face. 

"Nay,  daughter,  tell  me  what  is  in  thy  heart." 

But  Anne  only  shook  her  head  and  clung  to  her 
mother  desperately.  "I  cannot  tell  thee,  oh,  believe 
me,  madam;  but  some  day  thou  shalt  know  the 
beautiful  truth.  Oh,  I  did  hope  so  much,  and  now, 


Every  Inch  a  King         169 

even  he — it  will  be  months  ere — the  Prince's  amaz- 
ing conduct — "  and  the  maiden  broke  into  such  a 
passion  of  weeping  that  the  countess  was  dismayed. 

"Nay,  my  sweet,  I  prithee  cease  these  tears. 
Look  up — the  sun  is  breaking  from  behind  the 
clouds.  Methinks  that  'tis  an  omen  for  thy  life. 
Thy  darkest  hour  has  surely  passed  away.  Nay, 
daughter,  kiss  me  and  be  at  peace  once  more." 

With  a  long,  shuddering  sob,  Anne  raised  her 
head,  pushed  back  the  radiant  luxury  of  her  hair, 
and  put  up  her  rosy  mouth  for  the  promised  kiss; 
but  her  eyes  were  yet  dim  with  tears. 

"Oh,  madam,  thou  art  right — I  cannot  wed,  and 
it  is  therefore  the  part  of  wisdom  that  I  become 
a  nun." 

But  the  countess  answered  soothingly, — "Nay, 
we  will  speak  no  more  of  this  at  present.  Let  thy 
thoughts  dwell  upon  a  happier  theme,  and  when 
I've  gone  thou  shalt  consider  it  again." 

But  Anne  could  not  put  it  from  her  mind.  At 
length  the  countess,  seeing  how  the  thing  was 
haunting  her,  slowly  began  to  dwell  on  it  once 
more,  describing  all  the  virtues  and  good  works 
practised  by  the  nuns  of  St.  Clare,  placing  before 
her  every  benefit,  and  drawing  a  dazzling  picture 
of  a  future  when  she  should  be  the  abbess  of  a 
wealthy  convent  with  rank  and  power  exceeding 
that  enjoyed  by  many  a  maiden  lingering  at  the 
court.  Then  did  she  pause,  and  wisely  said  fare- 
well. 


170         Every  Inch  a  King 

During  the  week  that  passed  ere  her  next  visit, 
Anne  spent  her  time  in  prayer  and  meditation.  Her 
mind  would  dwell  on  all  that  she  had  lost  and  linger 
on  the  virtues  of  that  noble  earl  who  had  sought 
her  love.  Then  she  would  dream  of  that  gallant 
friend,  that  brave  and  honorable  lord,  Henry  Mon- 
mouth;  and  then,  with  downcast  eyes  and  reddened 
cheeks  would  come  the  remembrance  of  those 
wretched  days  and  all  that  she  had  suffered,  and 
anger  against  the  Queen,  and  confused  wonder  at 
Scrope's  conduct,  would  overwhelm  her  until  she 
sank  upon  her  knees  and  wept.  Anon,  becoming 
peaceful,  soothed  by  her  very  tears,  she  bent  her 
mind  upon  a  quiet  future  within  the  sacred  cloisters 
of  the  Minories. 

So  passed  the  days,  in  tumult  and  distress,  yet 
always  leading  to  the  same  conclusion:  "The 
Prince  forgets  that  I  am  still  alive,  and  there's  no 
assistance  he  can  give  to  me.  Belike  Lord  March 
has  heard  these  evil  falsehoods,  and  so  has  closed 
his  heart  to  me  forever.  'Tis  plain  that  I  can  never 
hope  for  marriage,  so  I  must  wed  with  holy 
Mother  Church." 

When  the  countess  made  her  second  visit,  Anne 
was  calm  and  full  of  resolution.  "It  shall  be  as  thou 
desirest,  madam.  I  have  considered  all  thou  saidst, 
mother,  and  am  convinced  that  thou  hast  spoken 
wisdom.  Prithee,  say  unto  the  abbess  that  I'm 
resolved  to  take  the  veil  at  once." 

When  Lady  Stafford  left  the  convent  walls  to 


Every  Inch  a  King         171 

ride  away  to  her  northern  castle,  she  bade  her 
daughter  a  fond  farewell,  commended  her  for  her 
nobleness,  and  added:  "When  I  am  next  in  Lon- 
don, I  will  come  and  hold  some  converse  with  thee. 
Do  thy  duty  and  give  thy  heart  to  God.  Ere  many 
years,  methinks  thou  wilt  have  risen  to  high  place." 

She  ceased,  and  kissed  her,  well  assured  that 
Anne  would  live  in  peace  a  nun,  and  die  an  abbess. 

Could  she  have  looked  into  the  future  and  wit- 
nessed their  next  meeting,  she  would  have  been 
lost  in  wonder  and  amazement.  Though  we  have 
formed  our  plans  most  carefully,  one  breath  of  fate 
may  overturn  them  all. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door  and  the  charger  stood  near ; 
So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
She  is  won !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur ; 
'They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow/  quoth  young  Lochinvar." 

SCOTT. 

THE  eventful  day  was  come  at  last — the  day  for 
which  every  inmate  of  the  convent  had  waited  with 
the  utmost  eagerness.  Even  in  such  a  great  and 
wealthy  institution  as  the  Minories,  the  admission 
of  a  new  sister  into  the  holy  bond  was  an  event  of 
the  utmost  importance.  The  nuns  were  ignorant 
of  Anne's  story,  but  they  had  heard  rumors  that 
she  had  been  a  great  lady  of  the  court,  and  that 
some  mighty  lord  had  loved  her  well ;  but  whether 
this  noble  lord  had  died,  or  she  refused  him,  they 
could  only  guess.  Her  constant  tears,  however, 
made  the  former  explanation  of  her  presence  seem 
more  likely.  Her  cousin,  the  Lady  Elizabeth 
Neville,  who  on  account  of  her  high  rank  received 
many  privileges  denied  to  the  humbler  sisters, 
became  at  once  her  friend  and  confidante,  although 
even  she  knew  not  of  the  reason  for  Anne's  reluc- 
tance to  take  the  vows  of  the  Order  of  St.  Clare. 
Soon,  however,  all  hesitation  had  ended;  the  abbess 


Every  Inch  a  King         173 

had  joyfully  accepted  her  decision — she  hoped  the 
convent  would  be  enriched  by  a  fair  proportion  of 
Lady  Stafford's  wealth — and  now  in  the  beautiful 
chapel  the  final  ceremony  was  to  take  place  which 
would  decide  forever  the  future  life  of  the  high- 
born maiden. 

Since  every  lady  was  obliged  to  choose  between 
marriage  and  the  Church,  both  careers  offering  an 
almost  equal  opportunity  for  exalted  positron  and 
great  influence,  love  alone  making  the  difference, 
the  convent  was  the  resort  of  every  maiden  who, 
for  lack  of  beauty,  rank,  or  opportunity,  judged  it 
impossible  that  she  could  marry  to  advantage.  But 
that  Lady  Anne  Stafford,  whose  sweet  loveliness 
many  might  have  envied,  whose  proud  birth  and 
noble  heritage  were  known  to  all,  and  who,  more- 
over, had  lately  been  at  court, — that  she  should, 
have  despaired  of  marriage  seemed  impossible;  and 
her  entrance  into  the  religious  life  could  only  be 
explained  upon  the  supposition  that  she  had  loved 
and  lost,  and  therefore  would  not  wed. 

If  the  nuns  had  been  greatly  interested  in  Anne 
during  her  short  novitiate,  they  were  still  more  so 
on  this,  the  day  when  she  was  finally  to  take  the 
veil.  Realizing  fully  how  irrevocable  were  the 
vows  she  was  about  to  assume,  it  is  little  wonder 
that  during  the  long  night  watches  Anne  had  not 
closed  her  eyes.  She  had  spent  many  of  the  weary 
hours  in  prayer,  but  to  her  great  dismay  she  found 
herself,  even  on  her  knees,  longing  for  some  escape 


174         Every  Inch  a  King 

from  her  doom.  She  had  supposed  her  mind  to 
be  entirely  calm.  She  had  made  her  decision  after 
much  thought  and  prayer;  she  had  bidden  her 
mother  farewell  with  tearless  eyes,  and  had  quietly 
taken  her  place  among  the  sisters.  As  time  ad- 
vanced she  had  grown  really  eager  for  the  final 
ceremonies  which  would  bestow  upon  her  the  right 
to  share  their  beautiful  life,  and  as  she  witnessed, 
day  by  day,  the  charities  for  which  the  Gray  Nuns 
are  so  noted,  her  heart  was  filled  with  pleasure  at 
the  thought  that  she  could  soon  take  part  in  them. 

But  now,  when  the  last  act  was  at  hand  which 
would  bestow  upon  her  all  that  she  desired,  her 
courage  suddenly  failed  her;  the  virtues  and  advan- 
tages of  the  life  were  forgotten,  and  her  heart  cried 
longingly  for  love,  love,  love!  "What  care  I  for 
Church  or  charity?  What  even  for  a  convent  of 
mine  own?  I'd  rather  be  an  humble  wife,  even 
living  in  a  prison  chamber,  and  have  the  love  Lord 
Mortimer  could  give  me,  than  be  the  abbess  of 
the  noblest  convent  within  the  limits  of  our  Eng- 
land. O  God!  why  didst  thou  give  me  hope  but 
to  torment  me  with  this  buried  life?  Were  I  not 
a  woman  and  so  helpless,  -I'd  break  my  bonds 
asunder  and  flee  from  here.  But  Heaven  help  me, 
there  is  no  haven  in  London— I  must  submit  to 
this,  unhappy  fateP' 

Little  wonder,  then,  that  Anne's  face  was  pale 
and  her  eyes  red  from  weeping  when  the  morning 
dawned.  She  attended  early  matins,  and  then  shut 


Every  Inch  a  King         175 

herself  in  her  cell  and  refused  to  partake  of  the 
food  which  was  sent  her.  Thus  the  long  day  wore 
away,  until  the  fatal  hour  finally  arrived  and  the 
chapel  bells  called  on  all  to  assemble  for  the  solemn 
service.  Two  by  two  the  nuns  came,  in  long  proces- 
sion, dressed  in  their  gray  gowns,  with  veils  falling 
from  their  heads  to  their  shoulders  and  leaving  the 
sweet  faces  but  half  visible.  Their  hands  were 
clasped  before  them,  and  their  heads  bowed,  as  they 
glided  forward  silently  to  kneel  in  rows  upon 
the  cold  stone  floor.  They  were  followed  by  several 
attendant  sisters  of  higher  order,  and  finally  the 
abbess  herself,  who  took  her  place  at  their  head. 
The  venerable,  white-haired  bishop,  attended  by 
two  priests,  came  slowly  forth  and  stood  before 
the  altar,  while  the  nuns  rose  to  their  feet  and 
broke  into  a  Latin  chant  which  lasted  for  several 
minutes.  As  they  ended,  the  doors  at  the  end  of 
the  chapel  were  again  thrown  open,  and  the  novice 
entered  and  came  forward,  supported  on  each  side 
by  an  attendant  nun,  Elizabeth  Neville  being  upon 
the  right. 

The  Lady  Stafford  was  dressed  in  robes  of  white, 
with  a  white  veil  of  fine  silk  draped  about  her 
shoulders  and  concealing  her  long  and  beautiful 
hair.  As  she  moved  between  the  lines  of  nuns  with 
stately  grace,  her  pure  white  face  was  calm,  her 
eyes  clear  and  seeming  intensely  black  in  contrast 
with- her  pale  cheeks,  her  mouth  was  firmly  closed, 
her  clasped  hands  did  not  tremble,  and  her  step 


176         Every  Inch  a  King 

betrayed  neither  faltering  nor  hesitation.  To  look 
at  her,  no  one  would  have  dreamed  of  the  agony 
she  had  suffered  in  the  night.  As  she  approached 
the  altar  and  knelt,  the  nuns  sank  upon  their  knees 
and  chanted  prayers  of  supplication  for  her  who 
was  so  soon  to  be  one  of  them. 

Then  the  bishop  turned  and  looked  down  upon 
the  novice  expectantly,  and  Anne,  summoning  all 
her  strength  to  keep  her  voice  firm  and  quiet,  raised 
her  head  and  distinctly  repeated  the  formula  in 
which  maidens  request  admittance  into  the  Fran- 
ciscan Order.  The  bishop  gazed  upon  her  beautiful 
face  with  admhation  and  some  wonder. 

"Is  it  thy  true  desire  to  enter  this  sacred  life  and 
devote  thyself  to  the  service  of  God  and  man?"  he 
asked,  in  his  quavering  voice. 

"It  is,  reverend  father,"  she  answered  bravely, 
but  with  lowered  eyes. 

"Dost  thou  swear  that  there  is  no  reason  why 
thou  shouldst  not  be  received?" 

"I  do  so  swear,"  breathed  the  voice  faintly. 

The  bishop  was  not  entirely  convinced,  yet  the 
wealth  and  station  of  the  lady  caused  him  to  put 
aside  his  scruples. 

"Holy  Mother  in  God,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
abbess,  "wilt  thou  receive  this  maiden  into  thy  fold, 
and  keep  and  guard  her  faithfully?" 

Upon  his  words  there  sounded  a  crash  as  it 
might  have  been  of  thunder,  or  of  metal  ringing 
upon  metal,  but  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the 


Every  Inch  a  King         177 

group  before  the  altar,  and  every  ear  listened 
eagerly  for  the  abbess's  answer. 

"I  will  receive  her,"  she  said,  "and  with  my  might 
will  I  guard  and  protect  her  from  all  harm  or  dis- 
honor." 

Again  sounded  the  crash,  followed  by  a  confused 
uproar,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  cloister,  but  the 
nuns  were  too  intent  upon  the  scene  before  them 
to  give  heed.  The  bishop  gazed  upon  the  kneeling 
maiden. 

"Rise,  daughter,"  he  commanded,  "thou  shalt  be 
received.  Withdraw  and  put  upon  thee  the  habit 
of  the  Order  of  St.  Clare;  then  come  before  me  to 
make  thy  solemn  and  perpetual  vow  to  live  a  life 
of  poverty,  chastity  and  obedience." 

Anne  rose  to  her  feet,  but  even  as  Elizabeth  and 
her  companion  came  forward  to  lead  her  away,  the 
doors  of  the  chapel  were  thrown  violently  open,  a 
loud  voice  cried, — "Hold,  in  the  name  of  the 
King!"  and  six  men,  three  of  them  muffled  in  great 
riding  cloaks,  so  that  even  their  faces  were  hidden, 
and  three  in  the  uniform  of  the  King's  guards, 
advanced  into  the  chapel.  The  frightened  nuns 
ran  screaming  to  either  side,  huddling  together  as 
if  for  mutual  protection,  some  sobbing  and  one  or 
two  fainting  with  terror.  Anne  shrank  back 
against  the  wall  and  the  bishop  and  his  priests 
stood  amazed  and  dumb.  The  abbess  alone  kept 
her  self-possession.  "Peace,  ye  fools,"  she 
cried  to  the  nuns,  then  sternly  addressing  the 


178          Every  Inch  a  King 

men  who  rapidly  advanced, — "What  means  this 
intrusion,  sirrahs,  into  the  holy  precincts  of  the 
Church?" 

The  three  foremost  men  came  forward,  the  men- 
at-arms  remaining  near  the  entrance.  Receiving 
no  answer,  the  abbess  again  cried  out  to  them  to 
leave  the  chapel.  "Have  ye  no  respect  for  God? 
This  ground  is  sacred — even  the  King's  men  have 
no  right  upon  it !" 

Without  answering,  the  three  continued  to  ad- 
vance until  they  had  reached  the  altar.  Then  one 
of  them  quickly  stepped  to  where  Anne  Stafford 
stood,  trembling  and  terrified,  and  whispered  in 
her  ear, — "Fear  not,  fair  lady,  wilt  thou  go  with 
me?" 

She  started  at  the  voice,  and  uttered  a  glad  cry 
of  assent.  Quick  as  lightning  he  pulled  off  his 
rich  cloak,  revealing  himself  as  a  knight  dressed  in 
full  armor  with  his  visor  down.  Wrapping  the 
cloak  about  the  maiden,  he  seized  her  in  his  arms 
and  started  toward  the  door.  The  abbess  sprang 
forward  to  prevent  him,  crying, — "Forward,  maid- 
ens, close  the  doors  and  bar  their  progress !"  But 
instantly  from  out  the  two  cloaked  figures  standing 
near  flashed  two  glistening  swords,  and  as  the  men 
rapidly  faced  the  abbess,  one  cried, — "Whosoever 
bars  our  way  must  sacrifice  his  life." 

The  leader,  with  Anne  in  his  arms,  ran  swiftly 
forward  as  if  he  carried  but  a  feather;  the  other  two 
followed  him,  gazing  backward  that  none  might 


Every  Inch  a  King         179 

approach,  and  in  an  instant  all  six  men  had  left  the 
chapel. 

"Run,  maidens,"  cried  the  abbess's  voice,  "bid 
them  bar  the  outer  doors !"  But  not  a  nun  stirred. 
"Ye  cowards,  will  ye  not  obey  me?"  she  cried,  and 
swiftly  went  herself, — but  it  was  too  late.  Other 
men  had  guarded  the  retreat,  the  attendants  were 
shrieking  and  wringing  their  hands  in  fright,  and 
the  doors  stood  wide.  The  abbess  sprang  to  the 
entrance  hoping  to  call  some  passer-by  to  her  aid, 
but  two  soldiers  guarding  the  doorway  forced  her 
within,  and  pulled  to  the  heavy  portal.  Opening 
the  sliding  panel  of  the  door  she  tried  to  call  for 
help,  but  saw  only  her  assailants,  and  ere  she  could 
determine  on  any  action  the  Lady  Anne  had  been 
placed  in  a  horse  litter,  the  men  had  sprung  to 
their  saddles,  and  in  a  moment  the  entire  party  of 
a  score  of  men  had  ridden  away.  The  abbess 
wratched  them,  breathless,  and  in  amazement  saw 
them  ride  to  the  near-by  drawbridge,  which  was 
promptly  lowered,  pass  through  the  Aldgate,  and 
enter  the  city  walls.  With  the  utmost  rapidity 
possible  she  secured  a  messenger  and  sent  him  into 
the  city,  but  it  was  an  hour  before  the  great  bell 
of  St.  Paul's  rang  out  into  the  evening  air  to  call 
together  the  townfolk  to  the  sheriff's  aid.  They 
assembled  at  Cheapside  by  the  score,  men  of  all 
ages  and  classes,  mostly  armed  with  an  anlace,  or 
Irish  knife,  although  some  had  pikes,  and  a  few, 
swords. 


180         Every  Inch  a  King 

The  sheriff  himself  addressed  them,  telling  them 
that  a  noble  lady  had  been  carried  off  by  force 
from  the  convent  of  the  Minories,  and  had  entered 
the  city.  Had  any  seen  a  party  of  horsemen  bear- 
ing a  lady's  litter?  Two  or  three  had  seen  such 
a  party,  but  they  differed  widely  in  description — 
a  lady  travelling  thus,  surrounded  by  her  guards, 
was  no  uncommon  spectacle.  The  sheriff  then 
commanded  them  to  patrol  the  town  from  end  to 
end  and  seek  to  rescue  the  lady.  The  men  dis- 
persed, but  when  the  morning  dawned  no  one  had 
found  the  Lady  Anne  Stafford. 

Meantime,  a  messenger  was  spurring  north  to 
bring  to  the  lady's  mother  a  message  from  the 
abbess,  telling  her  that  her  daughter  had  been 
stolen  from  the  convent.  The  frantic  countess 
prepared  for  an  immediate  return  to  London,  but 
ere  she  could  set  out  another  messenger  arrived 
and  delivered  her  the  letter  following: 

"Madam,  you  have  already  learned,  methinks, 
your  daughter  is  taken  from  the  Minories.  It  was 
against  the  law  of  nature  and  of  man  that  she 
should  be  made  a  nun.  You  need  have  no  fear  for 
her,  she  is  in  the  safe  care  of  a  noble  lady,  there  to 
remain  in  peace  and  secrecy  until  such  time  as  she 
can  wed  a  lord  who  will  be  worthy  of  her  father's 
daughter.  Seek  not  to  find  her,  for  you  cannot 
do't ;  but  rest  in  peace,  for  she  is  safe  and  well. 

"This  from  the  hand  of  Michael  de  la  Pole,  son 
to  my  Lord  of  Suffolk." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"I  loved  you  ere  I  knew  you;  know  you  now, 
And,  having  known  you,  love  you  better  still." 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 

"FEAR  not!"  Those  words  sounding  in  Anne's 
ears,  brought  sudden  and  entire  rest  to  her  troubled 
heart.  He  had  come  then,  at  last,  her  deliverer,  her 
friend!  One  instant  more,  and  she  had  made  her 
vows  and  it  had  been  too  late ;  but  as  always,  Henry 
of  Monmouth  had  come  in  time — he  never  failed,  he 
never  waited  until  the  opportunity  was  past,  but 
seized  it  at  the  moment.  These  were  the  comforting 
thoughts  that  filled  Lady  Stafford's  mind,  as  the 
Prince  bore  her  down  the  chapel,  between  the  rows 
of  trembling  nuns,  and  on  through  the  convent  it- 
self, to  the  open  air.  The  confusion  of  the  scene,  the 
stern  commands  of  the  abbess  and  the  terror  of  the 
women — none  of  these  things  impressed  her,  for  her 
heart  was  throbbing  with  relief  and  joy  and  grati- 
tude. It  was  the  cool  wind  blowing  upon  her  face 
that  brought  her  to  a  sudden  realization  of  her  posi- 
tion, and  she  glanced  swiftly  around  her.  At  the 
entrance  stood  a  party  of  men,  possibly  a  dozen  in 
number,  each  with  his  horse's  bridle  thrown  over  his 
arm.  They  were  guardsmen  save  for  one  who  was 
muffled  in  a  riding  cloak  like  the  Prince's  two  com- 
panions. 


1 82          Every  Inch  a  King 

To  her  great  relief,  for  she  had  no  strength  for  a 
journey  on  horseback,  Anne  saw  also  a  handsome 
litter,  covered  with  a  round  vault  with  openings  at 
the  side,  and  with  a  fine  horse  fastened  to  the  shafts 
at  each  end.  The  Prince  hurriedly  placed  her  within 
the  litter,  where  she  found  robes  and  cloaks  for  her 
comfort,  and  then  the  men  mounted  their  horses. 
The  other  members  of  the  party  now  hastily  came 
forth  from  the  convent  and  sprang  to  their  saddles, 
and  in  an  instant  the  little  company  had  started  at  a 
brisk  trot  with  the  litter  in  their  midst.  They  rode 
directly  to  the  city  wall,  and  one  of  the  soldiers 
summoned  a  warder  and  demanded  passage  in  the 
King's  name.  The  drawbridge,  which  had  been 
raised  only  a  moment  before,  when  the  sun  sank  in 
the  west,  was  promptly  lowered  at  the  call,  the  gates 
were  opened,  and  they  passed  into  the  city.  The 
warder  glanced  rather  curiously  at  the  litter,  and 
noting  the  direction  from  which  they  had  come, 
asked  of  one  of  the  guard:  "Have  ye  been 
robbing  yonder  nunnery?"  But  ere  the  man  could 
answer,  one  of  the  gentlemen  loosed  his  cloak  so 
that  the  torchlight  fell  upon  his  armor,  and  said 
haughtily, — 

"My  cousin  has  been  staying  with  the  abbess  for 
several  days,  and  we  have  but  gone  to  bring  her  to 
the  city." 

"I  crave  your  pardon,  my  lord,"  answered  the 
man  hastily.  And  then  as  the  rider  flung  him  a 
piece  of  gold,  he  cried, — "God  bless  your  lordship 


Every  Inch  a  King         183 

and  the  young  lady.  I  will  never  forget  your  lord- 
ship's kindness." 

That  may  have  been  one  reason  why  when  an 
unusually  alert  citizen  sought  two  hours  later  to 
learn  from  the  authorities  at  Aldgate  of  the  route 
taken  by  those  who  had  stolen  Anne  from  the  con- 
vent, the  warder  told  him  shortly  that  the  company 
to  which  he  alluded  had  not  passed  through  his 
gate. 

Once  within  the  city  the  little  party  traversed  the 
less  frequented  streets,  bearing  steadily  toward  the 
west,  where  Ludgate  led  to  the  open  country,  and  the 
Prince  now  rode  up  to  the  side  of  the  litter. 

"Thou  art  not  frightened,  lady?" 

"Nay,  my  lord,"  she  answered,  smiling  out  at 
him;  "why  should  I  fear  when  thou  art  with  me?" 

"I  thank  thee  for  thy  trust,"  answered  Harry, 
smiling.  "It  is  a  bold  deed  to  snatch  thee  thus 
from  the  very  arms  of  the  Church.  Thou  dost  not 
regret  this  life  that  thou  hast  lost?" 

"Never,  my  lord !  I  longed  for  freedom,  and  thou 
givest  it  me.  Whatever  thou  hast  planned  for  me 
is  good." 

"I  desire  thy  happiness,  fair  maiden,  and  I  be- 
lieve thy  future  will  be  happy." 

Harry  turned  and  motioned  to  a  companion,  who 
promptly  drew  rein  beside  him.  "Thou  hast  not  for- 
got thy  cousin  Michael,  lady?"  asked  a  cheery  voice. 

Anne  started  and  leaned  out  to  peer  into  the  dark- 
ness. "Is  it  truly  thou?"  she  cried. 


184         Every  Inch  a  King 

The  knight  laughed.  "Ay,  without  doubt;  didst 
think  that  I  would  countenance  so  merry  a  plot  and 
not  join  in  it?  Ah,  but  my  cousin  countess  will 
weep  to-night." 

"Oh,  my  mother.  I'  faith,  I  had  forgot.  What 
will  she  think  ?  Cousin  Michael,  canst  thou  not  send 
her  a  message?" 

"What !    To  take  thee  to  the  nunnery  again  ?" 

"Nay,  Heaven  forbid !  I  meant  not  that ;  but  she 
will  be  sore  astonished  at  the  news,  and  I  would  fain 
spare  her  anxiety.  Moreover,  she  will  never  cease 
her  effort  until  she's  found  out  my  abiding  place." 

"Michael,"  spoke  the  Prince,  "the  lady's  wise.  I 
prithee  send  a  message  to  the  countess  telling  her 
that  her  daughter  is  safe  and  well,  and  that  'tis  use- 
less to  seek  for  her.  Sign  thine  own  name,  and  she 
will  be  content." 

Michael,  after  some  further  argument,  consented. 
Tablets  were  produced ;  and  the  knight,  without  dis- 
mounting, wrote  the  letter  and  gave  it  to  one  of  the 
guardsmen,  who  separated  from  them  and  started  on 
his  journey. 

Meanwhile,  the  Prince  addressed  the  lady :  "Mis- 
tress, permit  me  that  I  present  to  thee  my  dear 
friend  Thomas,  Earl  of  Arundel."  The  young 
nobleman  rode  up,  and  loosening  his  cloak  he  raised 
his  visor  that  she  might  see  his  face  in  the  dim  twi- 
light. Anne  extended  her  hand,  saying  earnestly: 
"My  lord,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  kindness  to  a  maiden 
unknown  to  thee." 


Every  Inch  a  King         185 

He  bent  low  on  his  horse  and  kissed  her  hand,  ex- 
claiming with  the  knightly  grace  which  became  him 
well, — "While  Arundel  lives,  his  sword  lies  at  the 
service  of  Lady  Anne  Stafford." 

She  flushed  and  answered  shyly, — "I  am  much 
blessed  in  having  such  good  friends." 

"Thy  friends  are  indeed  many,  fair  mistress," 
smiled  Arundel,  "and  they  are  powerful,  likewise; 
for  few  at  court  would  our  bold  Prince  undertake 
such  a  venture." 

While  they  chatted,  Ludgate  came  into  view, 
and  the  Prince  rode  on  ahead  and  hailed  the  war- 
der: 

"Ho!  Dougale,  art  within?" 

A  tall,  powerfully  built  man  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, and  came  promptly  forward. 

"Dost  know  my  voice,  Dougale?" 

"Ay,  your  Grace,  I  know  it  well." 

"I  am  leaving  the  city  with  my  friends,  and 
quietly,  as  thou  seest.  Open  the  gates  and  lower  the 
drawbridge  with  speed." 

The  man  obeyed  promptly  and  the  little  party 
passed  through.  Harry  waited  until  the  last,  then 
turned  toward  the  warder.  "I  trust  to  thy  discre- 
tion, Dougale,"  he  said  quietly. 

"My  lord,"  answered  the  man  gravely,  "neither 
threats  nor  torture  shall  force  my  tongue  to  speak 
of  this  event." 

The  Prince  drew  off  his  gauntlet  and  extended  his 
hand.  The  man  kissed  it  fervently,  murmuring, — 


1 86         Every  Inch  a  King 

"God  bless  thee,  noble  Harry,  and  keep  thee  safe 
from  harm." 

An  instant  later  the  drawbridge  was  in  place 
once  more,  and  the  one  clue  to  their  destination 
destroyed.  For  the  wise  Prince  knew  that  by  enter- 
ing the  city  walls,  instead  of  riding  around  them, 
they  would  confuse  their  pursuers  and  throw  them 
off  the  scent.  Even  that  short  mile  of  streets  from 
one  gate  to  the  other  was  sufficient  for  the  purpose. 

Harry  rejoined  his  party  with  a  light  heart.  Rid- 
ing to  Lady  Anne's  side,  he  presented  to  her  such 
food  and  drink  as  they  had  carried  with  them,  and 
she  partook  of  it  gratefully.  "We  are,  methinks, 
safe  from  immediate  pursuit,"  he  told  her  gravely ; 
"but  we  must  on  with  haste.  For  the  night  we'll 
rest  at  Windsor." 

She  blushed  a  little  under  cover  of  the  darkness, 
and  asked  him  shyly :  "Is  Lord  March  at  Windsor?" 

"Not  now,"  answered  the  Prince;  but  ere  she  had 
space  to  wonder  at  it,  a  horseman  ranged  beside  her, 
and  loosened  his  cloak  about  him,  so  that  his  hand- 
some head  was  bare.  She  turned,  startled,  and  in 
the  clear,  bright  moonlight  saw  a  face  that  never  left 
her  memory.  It  was  that  of  a  man  young  in  years 
and  beardless,  so  that  his  sweet,  firm  mouth  showed 
plainly.  The  delicacy  and  exquisite  clearness  of  his 
features  spoke  of  many  generations  of  noble  blood. 
His  wealth  of  fine  brown  hair  fell  in  profusion  about 
his  face  and  shoulders,  and  his  deep  brown  eyes 
were  bent  upon  her  with  an  eagerness  of  longing 


Every  Inch  a  King          187 

that  made  her  tremble.  One  breathless  instant,  and 
then  the  Prince's  voice  sounded  in  her  ears.  "Lady, 
Lord  March  is  here !" 

She  gave  a  little  cry  and  leaned  quickly  toward 
her  lover.  "Thou  art  free!"  she  said  in  tones  that 
trembled  eagerly.  "How  has  this  thing  come  to 
pass?" 

"Nay,  lady,  thou  mistakest,"  he  answered  sadly. 
"My  freedom  is  only  of  the  Prince's  goodness  for 
one  day.  In  a  few  hours  we  must  reach  Windsor 
Castle,  and  then  I  go  back  to  my  prison  chamber." 

A  little  sigh  escaped  her.  He  rode  closer.  "Dost 
thou  pity  my  cruel  lot  ?  Prithee,  give  me  one  word 
from  those  sweet  lips  of  thine." 

"Is  thy  lot  so  cruel  ?"  she  asked  him  shyly. 

"Ay,  'tis  bitter,  lady.  When  I  love  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul,  how  can  I  live  content  within  four 
walls?" 

"But  thou  art  free  to-night,  my  lord !" 

"A  short  two  hours!  What  recompense  for  all 
the  gloomy  days  of  silent  misery  ?" 

"Methought,"  she  answered  archly,  "that  an  in- 
stant's happiness  were  worth  an  eternity  of  wretch- 
edness." 

He  started  to  seize  the  little  hand  that  was  just 
visible,  then  checked  himself.  "What  chance  have  I 
for  even  one  instant's  blessed  happiness  ?  The  Prince 
commands  I  shall  not  speak  of  love.  He  says  that  I 
have  nothing  to  offer  thee,  nor  can  I  wed  thee  while 
I  am  a  captive.  He  takes  thee  to  my  sister  Eleanor, 


1 88         Every  Inch  a  King 

she  who  is  wife  unto  the  Lord  of  Devon,  and  there, 
he  vows,  thou  shalt  remain  in  peace.  But  for  myself 
he  bids  me  wait  in  patience,  tells  me  that  when  I'm 
a  free  man  once  more  and  have  my  rank  and  title  at 
the  court,  I  shall  have  leave  to  woo  thee  at  my 
leisure ;  but  now  I  must  not  speak  a  word  of  love." 

She  turned  upon  him  and  asked  with  haughtiness. 
"And  dost  thou  let  the  Prince  control  thy  speech? 
Methought  all  Englishmen  could  use  their  tongues." 

"But,"  he  protested,  delighted  at  her  spirit, 
"surely  the  Prince  is  wise.  What  right  have  I  to 
whisper  words  of  hope  and  love  to  thee  when  I  can 
offer  thee  but  this  alone  ?" 

"My  lord,  a  woman's  heart  asks  for  naught  else." 

He  seized  her  little  white  hand  in  his  own,  and 
kissed  it  once  and  twice,  and  yet  again.  She  drew 
it  from  him  in  pretended  anger.  "Alas,  my  lord,  is 
this  thy  chivalry?  Wilt  thou  thus  attack  a  helpless 
woman  ?" 

"Ay,  sweetheart,  a  thousand  times  would  I !  Ah, 
if  I  might  but  have  thee  in  my  arms  and  ride  with 
thee  alone  across  the  world !" 

"Methinks  I  should  be  wearied,"  she  replied  with 
a  soft  laugh. 

"Wouldst  thou,  fairest  maiden?  Wouldst  thou 
indeed?" 

"What,  across  the  world?  Upon  mine  honor, 
'twould  be  a  lengthy  journey.  And  when  thou  didst 
reach  the  end  of  it  wouldst  thou  bear  me  off  into 
unfathomed  space?" 


Every  Inch  a  King         189 

"Ay,"  he  answered  softly;  "thou  vvouldst  have 
wings,  my  sweet,  to  soar  unto  the  skies  and  to  our 
God.  And  since  I  held  thee  in  my  arms,  thy  wings 
would  help  to  bear  me  up  to  heaven.  Wouldst  thou 
take  me  with  thee,  fairest  maiden?" 

"Methinks,"  she  answered,  but  in  a  tone  so  low 
that  his  lover's  ear  could  scarcely  catch  the  words, — 
"methinks  that  we  might  pass  some  heavenly  hours 
upon  this  earth  before  we  go  above." 

******* 

What  cruel  tricks  time  plays  upon  us !  Surely  the 
sands  within  the  hour-glass  had  not  run  out  the 
first  quarter  ere  the  Prince  rode  up  and  joined  the 
lovers. 

"Edmund,  the  towers  of  Windsor  rise  before  us. 
Thou  must  say  farewell  and  ride  with  me." 

The  earl  gazed  about  him  in  amazement.  "Me- 
thought  we  had  only  now  left  London.  Is  it  possible 
we  are  at  Windsor  ?" 

The  Lady  Anne  leaned  forward  toward  the  Prince 
and  asked  pleadingly :  "My  lord,  cannot  the  earl  ride 
with  me  to  Exeter?  Ah,  good  my  lord,  wilt  thou 
not  grant  this  boon  ?  'Twill  only  be  for  a  few  days, 
my  lord." 

The  Prince  shook  his  head.  He  could  not  trust  his 
voice.  Mortimer  rode  close  to  him.  "Dear  my 
lord,  give  me  this  blessing.  Thou  sayest  thou  art 
my  friend — wilt  thou  refuse  me  this  little  favor? 
What  are  a  few  days  compared  to  the  long  years  of 
my  confinement?" 


190          Every  Inch  a  King 

"Peace,  it  cannot  be." 

"Thou  art  cruel  to  me !"  cried  the  earl.  "Tis  not 
much  I  ask  of  thee,  and  thou  denyest  it.  I'  faith,  but 
I  will  go  in  spite  of  thee !" 

Harry  laid  a  quick  hand  upon  his  rein.  "Listen, 
Edmund;  I  have  neither  power  nor  skill  to  keep 
thine  absence  secret  longer  than  to-night.  The  royal 
guards  would  not  obey  my  word  did  they  discover 
thou  wert  not  within.  Whilst  I  myself  was  travel- 
ling afar  the  news  would  ring  through  England,  and 
the  King,  furious,  would  send  his  soldiers  for  thee. 
Were  we  two  found  together  thou  wouldst  die,  and 
even  I  might  suffer  death  for  treason.  Come,  we 
approach;  bid  thy  sweetheart  good-night." 

Sadly  but  submissively  Lord  March  leaned  from 
his  horse  and  kissed  the  lady's  hand.  "Dear  one, 
farewell.  God  have  thee  in  his  keeping.  These 
blessed  moments  are  worth  eternity." 

"Farewell,"  she  answered  with  a  little  sob, — "God 
grant  that  we  may  meet  again  erelong." 

They  crossed  the  drawbridge  and  rode  into  the 
courtyard.  The  horses  were  led  away,  and  while 
the  Prince  and  his  friends  entered  the  great  hall, 
where  instantly  all  was  confusion,  caused  by  the  un- 
expected visit,  Mortimer  separated  from  them,  and 
quietly  sought  the  garden  which  gave  him  secret 
access  to  his  chamber. 

Next  morning  the  travellers  assembled  at  an  early 
hour,  refreshed  by  their  night's  rest.  Lady  Anne 
came  from  the  women's  apartments,  her  cheeks 


Every  Inch  a  King         191 

flushed  with  excitement  and  her  eyes  bright.  The 
Prince  greeted  her  with  formal  ceremony  and  placed 
her  at  his  right  hand,  with  Sir  Michael  at  his  left. 

It  was  by  no  means  an  unusual  thing  for  the 
Prince  to  appear  at  Windsor  with  such  guests;  and 
a  glance  here  or  a  smile  there  had  sufficed  to  make 
the  servants  suppose  that  Michael  and  Lady  Anne 
were  lately  wed.  The  Prince's  delight  in  romance 
was  well  known,  and  what  more  likely  than  that  he 
should  give  his  protection  to  this  bridal  party  ? 

While  horses  were  being  saddled  for  the  journey, 
Harry  gave  his  escort  to  the  lady  and  led  her  once 
more  to  that  beautiful  garden  in  which  the  roses 
were  blooming  in  profusion.  She  gave  a  cry  of  de- 
light and  plucked  a  great  red  one,  all  wet  and 
glistening  in  the  early  morning.  While  she  yet  lin- 
gered, a  door  opened  in  the  wall  and  she  raised  her 
eyes  and  gazed  into  her  lover's  happy  face.  .  .  . 
Only  a  moment  could  they  be  together,  but  when 
the  Prince  came  forward  to  their  side,  the  earl 
said, — 

"My  lord,  before  we  part,  permit  us,  in  thy  pres- 
ence, to  exchange  rings  in  token  of  our  betrothal." 

Harry  glanced  hesitatingly  at  the  maiden.  "Were 
it  best,"  he  asked,  "that  thou  shouldst  give  thy  hand, 
fair  lady,  without  the  countess's  consent?" 

"My  lord,"  she  answered  sweetly,  "I  will  never 
wed  without  my  mother's  sanction ;  yet  if  she  deny 
me,  I  still  would  wear  his  ring  in  token  of  my  prom- 
ise to  wed  Lord  March,  or  else  to  die  a  maid." 


192         Every  Inch  a  King 

"And  I,  my  lord,"  cried  Mortimer,  "will  wed  the 
Lady  Anne,  or  die  without  a  wife." 

"God  bless  ye  both,"  said  the  Prince  tenderly,  and 
joining  their  hands  together,  he  himself  made  the 
exchange  of  rings.  For  one  brief  instant  the  earl 
took  his  loved  one  in  his  arms,  and  placed  upon  her 
sweet  lips  the  first  kiss;  then  the  Prince  spoke,  and 
reluctant,  yet  obedient,  they  separated  and  went 
their  different  ways. 


CHAPTER    XXL 

"You  must  come  home  with  me  and  be  my  guest ; 
You  will  give  joy  to  me,  and  I  will  do 
All  that  is  in  my  power  to  honor  you." 

SHELLEY. 

AMONG  the  many  noble  qualities  of  Prince  Harry 
was  his  constant  thoughtfulness  for  others,  and  this 
quality  was  never  better  illustrated  than  in  the  case 
of  Lady  Anne  Stafford.  When  he  first  learned  of 
the  maiden's  departure  from  the  court,  he  had  at 
once  seen  that  it  might  be  necessary  to  take  her 
suddenly  and  forcibly  from  the  convent,  and  he 
had  promptly  made  all  arrangements  for  that  possi- 
bility. The  sequel  proved  his  wisdom;  for  the 
failure  of  the  Burgundian  marriage  and  his  own 
disgrace  had  made  it  impossible  for  him  even  to 
ask  for  Mortimer's  pardon,  and  but  for  his  fore- 
thought, Lady  Anne  would  have  been  compelled 
to  take  the  veil.  As  it  was,  however,  her  present 
and  future  happiness  was  secure.  Troubled  by 
Anne's  predicament,  and  by  Lady  Westmoreland's 
inability  to  help  her,  the  Prince's  mind  had  hastily 
considered  every  lady  of  the  court.  He  had  thought 
seriously  of  Anne  of  Conisborough,  as  being  sister 
to  Lord  March,  but  many  objections  occurred 
to  him.  The  lady  was  far  from  strong,  and  she 
was  engrossed  by  her  first-born  son  and  by  her 


194         Every  Inch  a  King 

constant  attendance  at  the  court,  for  she  seldom 
left  London.  As  Harry  puzzled  over  the  problem, 
a  sudden  solution  occurred  to  him,  and  quitting 
his  aunt's  apartments,  he  had  promptly  sought  the 
Countess  of  Devon.  It  was  some  time  before  he 
found  her,  seated  quite  alone  in  a  distant  hall  and 
bending  over  an  illuminated  manuscript  of  one  of 
Chaucer's  poems, — so  engrossed  that  she  did  not 
hear  him  until  he  spoke. 

"Lady  Devon,  I  have  been  searching  for  thee." 
She  started,  and  raised  her  head.  She  was  a  small 
woman,  dressed  simply  in  dark  green  velvet,  and 
she  wore  no  jewels.  Her  face  was  delicate  and 
sensitive,  but  without  much  beauty.  Her  eyes  were 
large  and  shy,  and  her  manner  showed  a  lack  of 
ease  and  assurance  which  prevented  her  from  dis- 
playing those  noble  and  attractive  qualities  of 
sweetness,  gentleness  and  purity  which  she  never- 
theless possessed.  Eleanor  Mortimer  had  seldom 
appeared  at  court  with  her  husband,  the  Earl  of 
Devon,  preferring  to  spend  quiet  and  contented 
days  in  their  distant  castle  of  Rougemont  at 
Exeter,  sitting  among  her  maidens,  spinning  or 
playing  upon  the  harp,  and  freely  opening  her 
heart  to  those  around  her. 

When  the  earl's  first  wife  died  he  was  a  man  of 
fifty  years,  and  almost  totally  blind ;  yet  the  young 
Lady  Eleanor  had  gladly  married  him,  and  with 
all  her  tender  heart  had  devoted  herself  to  her 
husband.  He  was  very  fond  of  her,  proud  of 


Every  Inch  a  King         195 

her  sweet  voice  and  love  of  poetry,  and  boastful 
of  her  many  virtues  and  her  skilful  management 
of  his  scores  of  servants;  but  he  knew  that  she  did 
not  appear  to  advantage  among  other  noble  ladies, 
so  he  rarely  asked  her  to  accompany  him,  when,  in 
spite  of  his  blindness,  he  made  frequent  journeys 
to  London,  and  took  part  with  zest  in  all  the 
pleasures  of  the  court. 

Upon  this  occasion,  however,  he  had  told  her 
that  without  an  occasional  change  of  scene  she 
would  grow  old  before  her  time.  He  had  patted 
her  cheek  and  said  that  he  was  not  content  that  she 
should  live  in  such  seclusion — let  her  don  her 
richest  garments  and  boldly  claim  her  place  among 
the  highest — and  she  had  reluctantly  consented  to 
accompany  him. 

The  ladies  of  the  court  were  too  self-engrossed 
and  too  eager  for  admiration  to  bestow  the  slightest 
attention  upon  this  plain  little  lady,  virtuous  and 
high-born  though  she  might  be.  Her  only  sister, 
Anne  of  Conisborough,  greeted  her  kindly,  but 
failed  really  to  understand  her,  so  that  the  Lady  of 
Devon  spent  her  hours  very  much  alone;  and  was, 
therefore,  far  happier  than  she  had  expected  to  be. 
Now,  she  was  enjoying  one  of  the  Canterbury 
Tales  and  was  both  astonished  and  dismayed  on 
hearing  her  name  spoken  and  finding  the  handsome 
and  gaily  dressed  Prince  standing  before  her.  She 
was  not  ignorant  that  could  the  ladies  of  the  court 
have  heard  his  words,  they  would  have  instantly 


196         Every  Inch  a  King 

been  filled  with  wonder  and  envy  at  her  good  for- 
tune, nor  was  she  indifferent  to  the  charms  of  the 
gallant  lord  to  whom  she  had  been  presented  upon 
his  arrival  but  a  few  hours  before.  Yet  the  prospect 
of  a  conversation  with  him  filled  her  with  actual 
terror,  and  as  she  rose  hastily  she  glanced  swiftly 
about  her  as  if  meditating  actual  flight.  But  Harry 
had  no  intention  of  permitting  her  to  escape. 

"I  have  interrupted  thy  reading,"  he  said  gently. 
"It  is  passing  strange  to  see  a  lady  of  the  court 
spending  her  hours  thus." 

He  had  touched  upon  one  of  her  strongest 
principles;  and  forgetting  fright  in  indignation,  she 
answered  with  spirit: 

"Does  not  your  Grace  deem  it  more  profitable 
than  to  spend  the  time  in  idle  gossip?" 

The  Prince  flashed  ipon  her  his  brilliant  smile, 
and  answered  merrily: 

"Oh,  didst  thou  think  that  I  was  blaming  thee? 
Nay,  Lady  Devon,  I  but  envied  thee.  Tis  many 
days  since  I  have  found  an  hour  for  quiet  pleasure 
with  poetry  or  music.  Dost  thou  not  sing,  fair 
lady?" 

She  looked  startled  at  the  question,  and  answered 
shyly, 

"Oh,  at  times,  my  lord.  How  didst  thou  guess?" 

Harry  laughed  and  begged  her  to  be  seated,  ere 
he  answered: 

"Does  not  the  one  enjoyment  mean  the  other? 
Thou  couldst  not  rightly  love  all  poetry  unless 


Every  Inch  a  King         197 

thou  hadst  the  love  for  music  also.  Thy  brother 
shares  thy  taste  in  both  these  arts." 

"My  brother,"  she  cried,  sinking  upon  the  stone 
bench  and  scarcely  noticing  that  the  Prince  placed 
himself  beside  her,  so  interested  was  she  in  his 
words.  "Dost  thou  then  know  Edmund  Morti- 
mer?" 

"Ay,  truly;  for  the  King  placed  him  in  my  per- 
sonal charge  full  two  years  since.  If  thou  couldst 
see  him,  thou  wouldst  love  him,  lady.  He  is 
exceeding  handsome,  and  learned  also,  gentle  and 
possessing  every  virtue." 

"Dost  thou  know  him  well?"  she  asked,  aston- 
ished at  his  praise. 

"Ay,  as  mine  own  soul.  He  is  my  dearest  friend, 
and  I  do  love  him  above  all  other  men.  We  have 
been  oft  together  and  I  have  spent  many  happy 
hours  within  his  prison  chamber.  It  is  for  his  sake, 
madam,  that  I  sought  thee,  for  thou  canst  do  us 
both  a  mighty  favor." 

"Can  I?  Be  assured  I'll  gladly  do  it."  Every 
trace  of  embarrassment  had  left  her  now,  and  her 
face  was  lighted  with  an  eager,  happy  smile,  that 
seemed  to  transform  her  whole  appearance.  There 
was  color  in  her  formerly  pale  cheeks,  and  a  light 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  added  quickly :  "I  have  not  seen 
my  brother  for  many  years,  but  it  would  give  me 
the  greatest  joy  to  serve  him.  Prithee  tell  me  what 
'tis  thou  desirest,  and  I  will  grant  it,  even  to  half 
my  wealth !" 


198         Every  Inch  a  King 

He  smiled  his  pleasure,  and  then  answered  sim- 
ply,— "I'll  tell  thee  the  entire  story,  madam,  if  thou 
wilt  promise  to  keep  it  a  close  secret." 

She  promised  eagerly,  and  Tie  gave  her  a  brief 
account  of  Mortimer's  love  story,  and  the  reason, 
as  he  supposed,  why  Lady  Anne  had  left  the  court. 
Eleanor  had  arrived  after  her  departure,  but  she 
had  heard  the  event  discussed,  and  was  delighted 
at  the  explanation.  The  Prince  continued, — 

"It  is  my  hope  that  on  the  occasion  of  my  coming 
marriage,  my  father  will  give  Lord  March  his 
freedom;  but  since,  by  some  mischance,  there  may 
be  delay,  and  as  I  fear  the  Countess  of  Stafford 
might  insist  that  Anne  become  a  nun,  I  desire  some 
method  of  placing  her  in  safety.  If  circumstances 
force  me  to  this  act,  wilt  thou  consent  to  guard 
her  for  thy  brother?" 

"Thou  meanest  thou  wouldst  take  her  from  the 
convent?" 

"Ay,  if  no  other  plan  be  possible,  and  I  must  find 
a  safe  abiding  place  where  she  may  rest  until  the 
earl  is  free." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  will  receive  her  gladly!  1 
know  that  my  Lord  Edward  will  consent,  and 
I  will  guard  her  for  my  brother's  sake." 

Without  betraying  the  secret,  she  secured  her 
husband's  permission,  and  the  Prince  was  greatly 
delighted  at  his  success.  Throughout  the  long 
winter,  therefore,  the  Lady  Devon  waited  for  some 


Every  Inch  a  King         199 

word,  her  eagerness  to  see  the  maiden  increasing 
day  by  day.  As  the  months  passed  by,  however, 
she  had  ceased  to  expect  her,  and  therefore  when 
a  horseman  rode  into  Exeter  and  delivered  a  letter 
— "From  my  lord,  the  Prince," — her  cheeks  grew 
crimson,  her  eyes  sparkled  and  her  hand  trembled 
violently  as  she  read  the  missive. 

"For  the  Lady  Eleanor,  Wife  to  My  Lord  Cour- 
tenay  of  Devon,  these: 

"Thou  hast  not  forgotten  thy  promise,  I  am  as- 
sured. I  come  to  claim  protection  for  the  Lady 
Anne  of  Stafford,  who  travelleth  under  my  escort. 
We  follow  closely  upon  the  messenger,  and  pray 
that  thou  wilt  grant  to  us  a  welcome.  I  commend 
me  to  your  ladyship  most  humbly. 

"HENRY  P." 

The  Earl  of  Devon,  learning  of  the  arrival, 
quickly  sought  his  wife.  "How  now,  my  lady! 
How  comes  it  that  the  Prince  sends  messages  to 
thee?  Read  me  the  letter." 

She  obeyed,  adding  anxiously:  "Thou  gavest 
me  permission  to  receive  the  maid  while  we  were  at 
the  court.  Thou  dost  remember?" 

My  lord  frowned  a  little  and  knit  his  brows,  as 
he  listened,  then  asked  in  some  surprise:  "Why 
should  the  Lady  Anne  Stafford  journey  hither? 
And  for  what  reason  dost  thou  receive  her, madam?" 

She     answered     quickly, — "Lord     March,     my 


2oo         Every  Inch  a  King 

brother,  loves  her,  and  the  Prince  requests  that  we 
will  harbor  her  until  Edmund  is  free  to  woo  and 
wed.  I  asked  thy  leave,  my  lord, — " 

Courtenay  interrupted,  "Nay,  I  am  quite  con- 
tent that  she  shall  come,  if  thou  wilt  find  pleasure 
in  her  company.  I  have  heard  naught  about  thy 
brother's  love." 

"  Twas  a  close  secret,  my  lord,  I  prithee  speak 
not  of  it." 

He  promised,  and  asked  to  hear  the  note 
again,  then  went  to  his  own  chamber,  where  he 
forgot  it  in  preparing  for  a  hunt.  A  dozen  maidens 
might  take  up  their  abode  under  his  roof,  and 
it  would  cause  him  scarce  a  thought. 

But  my  Lady  of  Devon  was  of  different  mettle. 
To  her  this  arrival  of  a  strange  lady  was  an  event 
in  her  quiet  life.  She  ordered  an  apartment  made 
ready  adjoining  her  own  chamber;  she  carefully 
selected  from  her  maidens  several  to  attend  upon 
her  guest;  and  she  made  every  arrangement  that 
occurred  to  her  active  mind,  lest  aught  should  be 
lacking  for  Anne's  comfort.  Then  she  prepared 
chambers  for  the  Prince  and  his  party,  commanded 
the  servants  to  be  in  readiness  to  give  him  a  royal 
welcome,  and  ordered  pigs  to  be  roasted,  fowls  to 
be  dressed,  and  quantities  of  rich  viands  and  pastry 
to  be  cooked,  while  the  most  delicious  wines  were 
secured  to  accompany  the  food.  It  was  only  when 
the  great,  gloomy  castle,  built  by  William  the 
Conqueror  himself,  had  fairly  been  transformed 


Every  Inch  a  King         201 

into  a  place  of  revelry  and  merry-making,  that 
Lady  Eleanor  had  leisure  to  indulge  in  curious  and 
anxious  thoughts.  Would  the  Lady  Anne  find 
pleasure  in  her  welcome,  or  would  she  despise  the 
efforts  of  her  hostess?  Would  she  be  content  with 
a  quiet,  country  life,  or  would  she  miss  the  gaieties 
of  the  court  and  be  restless  and  dissatisfied  ?  Above 
all,  would  she  be  gentle  and  sweet  and  simple, — a 
companion  and  a  friend  to  her  future  sister,— or 
would  she,  as  was  far  more  likely,  be  cold  and 
haughty,  proud  and  selfish,  and  dressed  in  jewels 
and  the  richest  gowns?  "Oh,"  the  little  lady 
mused,  "how  then  could  we  live  together  peacefully  ? 
For,  by  my  faith,  methinks  that  I  would  hate  her !" 
These  doubts  had  reached  their  height,  when  the 
sound  of  hoofs,  the  lowering  of  the  drawbridge,  and 
the  hearty  cheers  of  the  servants  proclaimed  the 
arrival  of  the  expected  guests. 

The  earl,  dressed  in  a  rich  crimson  suit,  and 
wearing  many  jewels,  with  his  countess  robed  in 
a  simple  and  yet  rich  gown  of  black  velvet,  her  long 
train  edged  with  ermine,  immediately  proceeded  to 
the  great  hall,  where,  surrounded  by  their  esquires 
and  ladies,  all  gorgeously  attired,  they  awaited  the 
approach  of  their  guests,  who  had  gone  to  their 
chambers  to  don  more  suitable  apparel.  Presently 
the  doors  were  opened  and  the  Prince,  who  had  dis- 
carded his  armor  for  an  exquisite  suit  of  cream- 
colored  satin,  attended  by  Arundel  in  green  silk, 
and  by  De  la  Pole  in  deep  purple  velvet,  came  slowly 


2O2         Every  Inch  a  King 

forward  with  Lady  Stafford  on  his  arm.  So  hasty 
had  been  her  flight  and  so  hurried  her  journey,  that 
she  was  obliged  to  appear  in  the  same  white  robes 
in  which  she  had  expected  to  take  the  veil.  But 
nothing  else  could  so  well  have  served  to  display 
her  beauty ;  for  moving  forward  with  quiet  dignity, 
her  head  held  erect,  her  rich  golden  hair  falling  like 
a  mist  around  her  shoulders,  and  mingling  with 
the  graceful  folds  of  her  gown,  she  was  as  charming 
a  picture  of  girlish  loveliness  as  the  old  hall  of 
Rougemont  had  ever  held.  Lady  Eleanor's  heart 
went  out  to  her  at  once;  and  while  her  husband 
formally  greeted  the  noblemen,  she  held  out  both 
hands  to  Anne,  drew  her  near  and  kissed  her  on 
each  cheek. 

"Maiden,"  she  said  gently,  "thou  art  welcome 
to  Rougemont,  and  that  thou  mayst  spend  many 
and  happy  hours  here,  is  my  earnest  wish/' 

"I  thank  thee,  Lady  Devon,"  answered  Anne 
heartily;  "may  God  bless  thee  for  the  shelter  thou 
dost  offer  to  a  homeless  maiden." 

A  merry  evening  was  that  first  one  in  Exeter. 
The  great  tables  were  laden  with  good  cheer,  the 
bowl  circled  freely,  and  the  earl's  minstrels  de- 
lighted the  ear  with  their  charming  music.  Shortly 
before  the  ladies  rose  to  seek  their  apartments  for 
the  night,  a  little  incident  occurred  which  charmed 
both  high  and  low.  The  boisterous  merriment  of 
the  retainers  had  somewhat  subsided,  for  they  had 
drunk  freely  of  the  wine  and  were  a  trifle  drowsy, 


Every  Inch  a  King         203 

the  musicians  had  changed  their  songs  from  gay  to 
sad,  and  tuned  their  harps  to  minor  strains.  A 
certain  melancholy  seemed  to  be  settling  upon 
guests  and  hosts  alike,  when  the  Prince,  rising  from 
his  place,  called  for  a  harp,  and  amid  the  sudden 
and  intense  silence  raised  his  voice  in  a  dainty  love 
song  in  honor  of  the  Lady  Anne.  Silvery  clear,  but 
very  soft  at  first,  sounded  the  words;  then  as  he 
entered  more  into  the  theme  the  voice  increased 
in  depth  and  fulness,  swelling  higher  and  higher 
until  the  black  rafters  rang  with  sound  and  sent 
back  a  throbbing  echo.  Harry  had  forgotten  him- 
self and  his  surroundings — before  his  eyes  there 
moved  that  sweet  face  which  he  had  never  seen  and 
yet  which  had  awakened  in  him  so  strong  a  love, 
and  to  her  he  sang,  pouring  out  his  heart  in  melody, 
that  he  might  lay  it  at  her  very  feet.  Those  who 
heard  it  never  forgot  that  song,  and  there  were 
several  who  marvelled  at  it  greatly.  But  Anne 
had  guessed  before,  that  he  did  love,  and  when  she 
bade  him  good-night  and  farewell,  for  he  was  to 
leave  the  castle  at  break  of  day,  she  looked  into  his 
eyes  and  murmured  softly: 

"My  lord,  thou  hast  given  me  love  and  happiness 
by  thy  great  kindness  to  my  Lord  of  March.  Tis 
by  thy  favor  we  can  live  and  hope.  May  God 
reward  thee  by  granting  unto  thee  a  wife  whom 
thou  canst  love  with  all  thy  heart." 

"Thou  hast  read  my  secret,"  he  answered  quietly, 
"Edmund  alone  doth  know  the  truth  of  it,  and  one 


204         Every  Inch  a  King 

day  thou  shalt  hear  it  from  his  lips.  Whether  it  be 
God's  purpose  to  bless  me  thus,  I  know  not,  but 
methinks  it  may  not  be.  Yet,  maiden,  I  thank  thee 
for  thy  happy  wish.  God  bless  thee  and  guard  thee 
in  his  loving  care." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  scourge  us." 

KING  LEAK. 

A  BUSY  and  eventful  summer  had  passed  over 
England.  Prince  Thomas  had  been  made  Duke  of 
Clarence  in  July,  and  throughout  the  eight  months 
from  January  to  August  he  had  presided  over  the 
council,  and  had  filled  the  honored  place  at  court; 
while  it  was  chiefly  owing  to  his  influence  that  a 
treaty  had  been  concluded  with  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
in  May.  And  now,  the  autumn  found  him  already 
in  France  in  command  of  a  force  of  eight  thousand 
men,  and  each  post  brought  news  of  his  capture  of 
fresh  towns  from  the  Burgundians  while  en  route  to 
join  Orleans  at  Bourges.  Meantime  the  English 
council,  at  the  head  of  which  the  youthful  Prince 
John  had  quietly  and  gravely  taken  his  place,  was 
united  in  firmly  supporting  their  absent  Prince  and 
the  new  policy  he  had  negotiated.  Thomas's  vic- 
tories filled  England  with  enthusiasm,  and  even  the 
King,  ill  though  he  was,  took  a  keen  interest  in 
events  and  was  delighted  at  the  success  of  this  sec- 
ond treaty,  since  that  made  with  the  Burgundians 
had  so  miserably  failed. 

During  all  these  interesting  events  he  who  was 
most  fitted  for  the  high  duties  of  statesmanship, 
whose  wisdom  and  skill  in  council  had  for  so  many 


206          Every  Inch  a  King 

years  been  of  inestimable  value  to  his  country,  he 
who  was  still  regarded  as  the  future  king,  had  not 
only  been  denied  the  smallest  share  in  the  govern- 
ment, but  had  been  allowed  to  remain  in  ignorance 
of  everything  pertaining  to  it,  until  such  time  as 
the  entire  country  should  learn  of  it. 

Harry  of  Monmouth  was  a  proud  man,  and  the 
distrust  of  him,  so  long  continued,  cut  him  to  the 
heart.  He  was,  moreover,  exceedingly  anxious  over 
his  father's  health,  and  he  was  deeply  troubled  that 
he  could  not  go  to  him,  or  even  receive  accurate  re- 
ports of  his  condition.  Once,  in  the  spring,  when 
the  monarch  was  staying  at  Windsor,  the  Prince  had 
passed  near ;  and  learning  that  his  father  was  much 
worse,  had  gone  to  the  castle  and  sought  admission. 
An  officer  of  the  guard  advanced  from  out  the 
tower,  and  informed  Harry,  across  the  open  moat, 
that  while  the  King  remained  there  he  could  not  be 
received.  The  Prince  flushed  hotly,  wheeled  his 
horse  and  galloped  off  so  rapidly  that  his  attendants 
had  much  difficulty  in  overtaking  him;  and  ever 
afterward  he  had  been  careful  to  avoid  that  part  of 
the  country  where  he  knew  his  father  to  be  at  the 
time.  Greatly  as  he  suffered  from  his  unfortunate 
and  embarrassing  position,  he  hid  his  wounds  under 
a  smiling  face,  and  scarcely  one  of  those  who  wit- 
nessed the  zest  with  which  he  entered  into  all  sports 
and  contests  of  skill,  or  enjoyed  his  merry  jests  at 
dinner,  imagined  that  his  heart  was  filled  with  sor- 
row. 


Every  Inch  a  King         207 

His  visit  to  London  in  July  had  been  a  brief  but 
merry  one,  and  to  none,  even  among  his  intimates 
— for  so  Falstaff  and  his  companions  were  regarded 
— did  the  idea  occur  that  Harry's  sudden  departure 
could  be  in  any  way  connected  with  the  mysterious 
disappearance  of  Lady  Anne  Stafford.  True,  the 
events  occurred  upon  the  same  day,  but  the  lady  had 
been  brought  into  the  city,  while  Harry  had  left  it 
to  travel  from  place  to  place,  as  was  the  custom  in 
those  restless  days.  It  was  not  known  that  Arundel 
or  De  la  Pole  had  dined  at  Cold  Harbor;  for  the 
Prince,  fearing  the  knowledge  of  their  presence  with 
him  would  still  more  prejudice  the  court  against 
them,  had  carefully  guarded  the  fact,  and  when  the 
two  young  men  returned  from  Exeter  they  sep- 
arated and  quietly  went  to  their  own  estates. 

Lady  Stafford  had  sent  message  after  message  to 
Sir  Michael  entreating  him  to  come  to  her,  or  at 
least  to  send  her  more  definite  information  regard- 
ing her  daughter;  but  the  knight  was  too  cautious 
to  think  of  journeying  to  Stafford  and  placing  him- 
self in  his  aunt's  power,  and  his  replies  assured  the 
countess  of  Anne's  welfare,  but  impressed  upon  her 
the  hopelessness  of  endeavoring  to  find  her,  so  that 
at  last  the  anxious  mother  gave  up  in  despair  and 
resolved  to  wait  until  events  gave  her  some  clue. 

Thus  the  incident  was  almost  forgotten  when 
Harry  of  Monmouth  returned  to  London  in  the  late 
autumn,  to  be  joyfully  welcomed  by  his  merry 
friends,  The  long,  useless  summer,  the  scornful  in- 


2o8         Every  Inch  a  King 

difference  and  even  insults  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected  on  occasional  chance  meetings  with  mem- 
bers of  the  court,  and  the  apparent  hopelessness  of 
any  immediate  change  in  his  position,  had  so  dis- 
couraged the  Prince  that  he  was  glad  to  throw  him- 
self heart  and  soul  into  whatever  pleasure  London 
could  afford;  and  it  is  little  to  be  wondered  at  if  he 
felt  that  Falstaff,  Poins,  and  Bardolph  were  his  true 
and  only  friends.  To  escape  from  his  own  gloomy 
thoughts,  he  spent  his  waking  hours  almost  entirely 
in  their  society ;  he  shared  eagerly  in  whatever  revels 
they  proposed,  and  although  he  was  careful  to  avoid 
transgression  of  the  law,  and  continued  to  restore, 
as  far  as  possible,  from  his  own  exceedingly  limited 
funds,  whatever  money  they  took  from  travellers, 
yet  he  grew  to  regard  their  occasional  offences  far 
more  leniently,  and  to  shield  them  from  the  rigor  of 
the  law. 

Such  a  condition  of  affairs  did  not  escape  the 
watchful  eyes  of  those  who  sought  to  injure  the 
Prince  by  every  possible  method,  and  the  stories 
which  were  told  about  him  were  so  exaggerated  and 
represented  such  an  alarming  situation,  that  even 
those  at  court  who  loved  him  best  were  forced  to 
believe  that  the  reports  were  founded  upon  truth, 
while  others  demanded  that  he  be  stripped  of  his 
titles,  attainted  and  banished  from  the  kingdom. 

Public  gossip,  far  more  than  Harry's  own  acts, 
had  caused  such  an  increase  of  crime  of  all  kinds — 
since  every  evil-doer  claimed  that  the  Prince  would 


Every  Inch  a  King         209 

protect  him  in  case  of  need — as  to  make  it  evident 
that  some  strong,  bold  action  was  necessary  to  force 
obedience  of  the  law.  Fortunately  for  England,  the 
man  then  occupying  the  exalted  position  of  chief 
justice  of  the  King's  Bench  was  strong,  absolutely 
fearless,  and  so  high-minded  and  upright  that  he  al- 
lowed nothing  whatever  to  prevent  him  from  doing 
his  entire  duty. 

Sir  William  Gascoigne  had  heard  with  distress 
the  tales  of  the  Prince's  ungoverned  life.  Nearly 
two  years  before,  when  Harry  Monmouth  had  first 
shown  his  pleasure  in  the  society  of  these  mischiev- 
ous men,  the  judge  had  not  hesitated  to  express  his 
concern  thereat ;  and  now,  during  the  last  month,  it 
seemed  that  his  worst  fears  had  become  realities. 
Something  must  be  done,  and  that  quickly,  or  law- 
lessness would  reign  supreme.  With  a  boldness  and 
scorn  of  evil  consequences  for  himself  which  render 
him  worthy  of  the  highest  admiration,  Gascoigne 
struck  at  the  very  heart  of  the  matter. 

A  traveller  had  appeared  before  one  of  the  lesser 
judges  to  demand  redress.  He  had  been  robbed  of 
two  pounds  and  a  cloak.  It  so  happened  that  the 
cloak  was  of  a  peculiar  appearance,  and  a  full  de- 
scription of  it  being  given,  men  were  despatched  to 
search  for  the  offender.  Before  many  hours  had 
passed,  the  lost  property  was  discovered  in  the  pos- 
session of  Bardolph,  one  of  the  Prince's  dearest 
friends.  The  officers  dared  not  arrest  such  a  man, 
and  the  judge  himself  hesitated  when  they  reported 


2io         Every  Inch  a  King 

it ;  but  Gascoigne  heard  of  the  matter,  and  resolving 
to  make  an  example  of  one  robber,  promptly  sent  a 
large  body  of  men,  heavily  armed,  with  commands 
to  bring  the  transgressor  to  the  bench  at  once,  and 
he  himself  would  try  the  case. 

They  proceeded  to  one  of  the  inns  in  Eastcheap, 
and  there  found  Harry  dining  with  much  merri- 
ment, and  attended  by  half  a  dozen  friends,  Bar- 
dolph  among  them.  They  forced  their  entrance  so 
hurriedly,  that  those  within  had  no  warning  until 
they  found  themselves  surrounded  by  twice  their 
number.  The  Prince  sprang  to  his  feet,  demanding 
angrily, — 

"Now,  sirrahs,  what  means  this  intrusion?  May 
I  not  dine  in  peace  without  such  interruptions? 
Why  come  ye  here?" 

"Your  pardon,  my  lord,"  answered  the  sheriff. 
"We  are  commanded  by  the  judge  to  bring  Master 
Bardolph  before  him  without  delay." 

"For  what  offence?" 

"Upon  the  charge  of  robbery,  my  lord." 

The  Prince  made  an  impatient  movement.  "Well, 
be  it  so.  If  he  is  guilty,  he  shall  come  to-morrow 
to  answer  to  it.  Ye  have  my  word  as  pledge,  so 
pray  depart." 

"Impossible,  my  lord,"  replied  the  sheriff  firmly, 
"he  must  come  with  us  now.  We  can  take  no 
denial." 

The  Prince's  eyes  blazed,  but  he  controlled  his 
anger.  "Be  it  so.  We  will  all  come  with  you !  Jack, 


Every  Inch  a  King         211 

Poins,  Gadshill,  prepare  ye  and  come  on.  Bardolph, 
thou  needst  have  no  fear.  I  will  answer  for  thee." 

The  officers  dared  not  object,  so  the  entire  party 
prepared  to  start,  when  Harry  asked, — "Before 
what  judge  does  he  appear?" 

When  he  had  heard  the  answer,  he  looked  a  little 
troubled.  Gascoigne  was  not  a  man  to  trifle  with. 
A  sudden  resolution  came  to  him. 

"Jack  and  Ned,  mount  and  come  with  me.  The 
rest  of  ye  ride  on  with  Bardolph.  We  will  follow 
shortly." 

And  riding  hastily  to  Cold  Harbor,  the  Prince 
donned  a  rich  suit  more  suited  to  his  rank,  and  when 
he  came  forth  to  begin  the  journey,  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  extensive  guard  of  men-at-arms.  As 
they  rode  rapidly  up  the  Strand,  Harry  suddenly 
remembered  that  his  last  journey  to  Westminster 
was  on  that  occasion  when  he  suffered  dismissal 
from  the  court  and  the  council,  and  this  remem- 
brance by  no  means  relieved  his  present  anxiety,  al- 
though he  would  not  permit  his  thoughts  to  dwell 
upon  it.  He  knew  that  crime  had  greatly  increased 
of  late,  and  he  had  cause  to  fear  that  Gascoigne 
would  not  be  lenient  toward  a  convicted  wrong- 
doer— he  knew  well  that  Bardolph  was  guilty. 

The  trial  was  in  progress,  and  with  confident  as- 
surance that  he  would  escape,  the  prisoner  had  even 
admitted  his  guilt,  when,  amid  great  excitement, 
the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  Prince  entered 
and  advanced  toward  the  seat  of  justice.  He  was 


212          Every  Inch  a  King 

dressed  in  an  elegant  costume  of  delicate  yellow 
satin,  the  doublet  slashed  and  exhibiting  the  white 
ruffled  linen,  his  limbs  clad  in  white  silk  hose,  and  a 
long  cape  lined  with  white  satin  falling  from  his 
shoulders  to  the  floor,  while  upon  his  head  rested  the 
golden  coronet  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  His  men- 
at-arms  placed  themselves  about  the  entrance,  and 
the  officers  of  the  court  glanced  at  them  with  evident 
apprehension,  for  they  were  outnumbered. 

Gascoigne  rose  to  his  feet  and  came  forward  to 
the  edge  of  the  dais — a  noble  and  majestic  figure, 
very  tall,  his  rich  scarlet  robes  falling  in  graceful 
folds  about  him,  and  his  strong  face  calm  and  dis- 
passionate. 

"What  is  your  will,  my  lord,  that  you  come 
here  ?"  he  asked  quietly. 

Harry  bowed  slightly,  as  if  in  greeting,  and 
answered, — 

"The  prisoner,  sir,  is  my  good  friend.  I  pray  to 
know  for  what  offence  he  has  been  brought  before 
you?" 

"For  the  offence,  my  lord,  of  taking  from  yon 
traveller  a  cloak,  found  in  his  possession,  and  the 
sum  of  two  pounds." 

The  judge's  face  was  calm,  his  manner  courteous. 

Harry  hesitated  a  moment,  then  asked:  "Does 
he  deny  the  charge  ?" 

"No,  my  lord,  he  admits  his  guilt." 

The  Prince  turned  toward  the  man.  "Bardolph, 
where  is  the  cloak?" 


Every  Inch  a  King         213 

"Yonder,  my  lord;  master  traveller  has  it  again." 

"Hast  returned  the  money  likewise  ?" 

"Nay,  that  were  folly.  Besides,  'tis  spent  for 
sack,"  answered  the  prisoner  with  a  grin. 

The  Prince  drew  forth  his  purse,  and  taking  from 
it  one  pound  and  fifteen  shillings  extended  the 
money  to  the  judge,  saying  with  a  smile, — "Sir 
William,  my  purse  contains  no  more  than  this,  but 
if  you  will  make  up  the  rest  to  this  worthy  man,  I 
promise  that  you  shall  receive  it  from  me  within 
a  fortnight." 

Gascoigne  accepted  the  money  and  the  traveller 
received  the  full  sum  and  left  the  court  content. 
Then  spoke  the  Prince. 

"Sir,  prithee  set  free  the  prisoner  without  delay, 
that  we  may  return  to  London." 

There  was  an  instant's  intense  silence,  then  the 
judge  answered  very  calmly:  "Not  so,  my  lord. 
Although  he  that  was  robbed  is  satisfied,  yet  justice 
and  the  law  have  been  imperilled  and  must  receive 
their  due.  Yonder  man  must  go  to  prison  until  the 
King's  pleasure  give  him  freedom." 

Harry  was  amazed.  He  had  never  before  encoun- 
tered such  a  stern  idea  of  justice.  "You  jest,  sir," 
he  exclaimed.  "That  which  was  taken  has  been 
given  back, — surely  the  demands  of  the  law  are 
fully  satisfied?  There  is  no  reason  for  this  severity!" 

"If  such  is  your  idea  of  justice,  Prince,  your  judg- 
ment is  less  keen  than  it  once  was.  I  say  again,  the 
man  shall  go  to  prison," 


214         Every  Inch  a  King 

Harry  flushed,  and  feeling  himself  to  be  in  the 
wrong,  answered  somewhat  angrily:  "You  have 
spoken,  sir;  I  came  not  to  bandy  words  with  you, 
but  now,  as-  Prince  of  Wales,  heir  to  the  throne,  I 
command  that  this  prisoner  be  pardoned  and  placed 
at  liberty." 

A  slight  color  came  to  the  justice's  cheeks,  and  a 
swift  glance  around  made  him  realize  how  few  his 
officers  were  beside  so  many  guardsmen,  yet  he 
answered  fearlessly: 

"Your  Grace  has  no  power  to  pardon  a  prisoner 
of  this  court.  If  you  desire  the  freedom  of  your 
gallant  friend,  go  to  the  King,  your  father,  and  ob- 
tain from  him  a  formal  pardon;  pending  which  the 
prisoner  shall  spend  his  time  in  the  jail." 

Thus  defied,  Harry  turned  and  motioned  to  his 
guard.  "Set  free  the  prisoner!"  he  cried,  but  in- 
stantly the  officers  surrounded  Bardolph  and  raised 
their  weapons.  Furious,  the  Prince  advanced  upon 
the  justice  with  flashing  eyes  and  his  hand  upon  his 
sword.  All  present  in  the  court  room,  the  sheriff 
and  his  men,  the  hesitating  guard  beside  the  door, 
and  the  eager  crowd  of  people  who  had  assembled 
to  witness  the  trial,  watched  the  two  chief  actors  in 
this  drama  with  breathless  interest, — would  Harry 
strike,  would  there  be  even  murder  done  before 
their  eyes? 

But  Gascoigne,  although  fully  realizing  his  per- 
sonal danger,  and  knowing  the  probable  results  of 
what  he  intended,  yet  stood  unmoved,  his  head  erect, 


Every  Inch  a  King         215 

his  face  calm  and  fearless,  and  as  Harry  advanced 
he  raised  his  hand  and  pointed  toward  him,  cry- 
ing,— 

"Prince,  thou  forgettest  the  majesty  of  England's 
law.  I  stand  here  for  the  King,  thy  sovereign  lord 
and  father,  and  in  my  person  represent  his  greatness. 
When  thou  dost  offer  insults  to  me,  thou  dost  aim  at 
law  and  order,  the  root  of  England's  might.  And 
thou  hast  aimed  at  it,"  he  continued,  his  voice  ring- 
ing boldly  forth,  "ay,  and  struck  it  too.  Thou  dost 
spend  thy  days  in  drinking  and  thy  nights  in  brawl- 
ing— we  learn  thou  dost  not  even  scruple  to  give 
thy  aid  to  those  who  rob  innocent  travellers;  and 
under  thine  protection  crime  has  so  increased  that 
soon,  methinks,  there  can  be  neither  law  nor  justice 
within  our  England.  And  to-night  thou  comest  in 
person  to  rob  the  law  of  its  victim — to  set  at  liberty 
a  thief  and  drunkard,  and  thou  proclaimest  him  to 
be  THY  FRIEND.  Oh,  shame  upon  thee!  Art  thou 
Prince  of  Wales?  Our  country  blushes  at  the 
thought  of  it!  I  charge  thee,  in  the  King's  name, 
cease  this  wildness;  control  thy  passions,  and  give 
such  an  example  to  those  who  shall  in  future  be  thy 
subjects,  that  they  shall  not  feel  shame  to  follow 
thee.  And  now,"  he  added  sternly,  "for  thy  con-, 
tempt  and  disobedience,  that  thou  hast  sought  to 
free  by  force  a  prisoner  from  his  just  bondage,  go 
thou  to  the  prison  of  the  King's  Bench,  whereunto  I 
commit  thee,  and  remain  there  until  the  pleasure  of 
the  King,  thy  father,  shall  be  known." 


216         Every  Inch  a  King 

The  spectators  had  quite  forgotten  to  breathe. 
Every  eye  had  been  fixed  upon  the  justice  during 
this  amazing  speech,  and  now  all  quickly  turned 
toward  Harry  Monmouth — was  it  possible  his 
sword  was  still  undrawn  ? 

The  Prince  had  at  first  been  too  astonished  at 
Gascoigne's  boldness  to  attempt  an  interruption,  but 
as  he  proceeded  and  Harry  heard  himself  denounced 
in  open  court  for  faults  that  he  had  been  so  careful 
to  avoid,  he  was  first  bewildered,  then,  in  spite  of  his 
innocence,  deeply  ashamed;  and  now,  in  the  intense 
silence,  he  stood  with  bowed  head  and  white  face, 
striving  to  realize  how  keenly  Englishmen  must 
have  suffered  since  they  supposed  the  heir  to  the 
throne  to  be  so  evil  a  man  as  this !  A  brief  instant 
he  struggled  with  his  thoughts,  then  suddenly  be- 
coming conscious  of  Gascoigne's  command,  he 
quietly  drew  his  sword,  and  sinking  on  one  knee, 
placed  it  in  the  justice's  hand  in  token  of  his  submis- 
sion; then,  without  a  glance  at  friends  or  guards- 
men, he  turned  promptly  to  the  sheriff,  and  said 
humbly : 

"Lead  on,  I  am  ready  to  accompany  you." 

The  sheriff  glanced  in  amazement  at  Gascoigne, 
but  in  response  to  a  gesture  of  command,  called  three 
attendants  to  his  side,  and  in  a  moment  the  little 
party  had  passed  from  the  court  room,  and  with  the 
Prince  of  Wales  in  their  midst  were  riding  rapidly 
to  London. 

The  heir  to  England's  throne — the  future  king — 
had  yielded  to  the  majesty  of  law. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"No  change,  no  pause,  no  hope !    Yet  I  endure." 

SHELLEY. 

EVEN  during  those  stirring  days  at  home  and 
abroad,  men  forgot  the  Orleans  alliance  and  ceased 
to  talk  of  the  latest  victories.  When  they  gathered  in 
taverns  or  upon  street  corners,  one  topic  alone  was 
eagerly  discussed — "Hast  heard  about  Prince  Hal 
and  the  Judge  Gascoigne?"  The  story  spread  like 
wildfire  over  London,  and  rich  and  poor,  high  and 
low,  received  it  with  bewilderment  increasing  to 
amazement,  incredulity,  slowly  becoming  belief,  and 
ending  in  admiration  and  delight.  The  general 
verdict  was  unanimous :  "Did  I  not  tell  ye  he  was 
a  noble  prince?  By  my  troth,  could  I  but  see  the 
man  who  spread  such  lies  about  him! — " 

The  English  people  had  indeed  suffered  at  the 
thought  of  Harry's  supposed  misdeeds,  and  after  the 
long  months  of  sadness  and  dismay,  they  were 
prompt  to  seize  upon  this  glimpse  of  a  noble  spirit 
and  to  behold  in  it  a  prophecy  of  happier  days  to 
come.  The  utter  confusion  of  those  criminals  that 
had  hoped  for  protection  from  one  who  submitted 
his  own  person  to  the  law,  gave  the  judges  courage 
to  follow  Gascoigne's  example  and  take  prompt  and 
decided  action,  and  the  effect  was  visible  at  once  in 


218         Every  Inch  a  King 

the  increase  of  order  and  general  safety  within  the 
city. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  the  situa- 
tion was  the  probable  effect  of  the  incident  upon  the 
King;  and  the  chief  justice  himself  was  not  without 
anxiety  upon  this  subject.  Although  confident  that 
he  had  but  done  his  duty,  he  yet  knew  that  his  act 
was  without  precedent,  and  not  only  did  he  expect 
dismissal  and  punishment  upon  the  accession  of  the 
Prince,  but  he  feared  that  Henry  IV.  himself  would 
take  his  office  from  him  for  daring  to  deal  so 
severely  with  one  of  the  royal  blood.  It  so  happened 
that  the  King  had  returned  to  Westminster  Palace, 
and  when  the  astonished  guardsmen  saw  their  mas- 
ter led  to  prison  they  hurriedly  left  the  court  and 
sought  his  royal  father  to  tell  him,  in  tones  of 
trembling  excitement,  of  "the  outrageous  insults 
put  upon  our  Prince!"  The  monarch  listened  in 
astonishment  to  the  recital,  then  sat  for  a  moment 
speechless,  the  full  meaning  of  the  incident  grad- 
ually dawning  upon  him,  until  when  a  courtier 
asked :  "What  doth  your  Highness  think  of  such 
bold  conduct?"  he  turned  upon  them  all  a  coun- 
tenance so  filled  with  joy  and  gratitude  that  they 
were  amazed,  and  answered  clearly, — 

"Methinks  that  God  hath  blessed  me  very  greatly, 
for  he  hath  given  me  a  judge  so  brave  and  true  that 
dares  to  justly  punish  mine  own  son ;  nor  am  I  less 
blessed  in  that  this  son  of  mine  will  so  submit  the 


Every  Inch  a  King         219 

greatness  of  his  blood  unto  the  law  and  justice  of 
our  country." 

Although  the  hour  was  growing  late,  the  King 
commanded  two  of  his  lords  to  go  at  once  to  the 
King's  Bench  Prison  and  order  the  Prince's  release. 
"For  'twould  be  villainous  that  England's  heir 
should  sleep  in  a  common  jail !" 

He  now  summoned  the  Earl  of  Warwick  to  his 
presence.  "Hast  thou  heard  about  our  son,  Rich- 
ard?" 

The  earl  bowed.  "But  even  now  the  news  hath 
reached  mine  ear." 

"Dost  thou  not  think,  my  lord,  that  Harry  is 
misjudged?  By  my  troth,  such  a  man  as  we  have 
thought  him  would  have  slain  Gascoigne  a  score  of 
times  ere  he'd  submit." 

"Your  Highness  knows,"  answered  the  earl 
proudly,  "that  I,  for  one,  have  ever  believed  him 
guiltless.  To-day  my  trust  in  him  hath  been  truly 
proven." 

"Thou  art  right,  Richard,  and  although  my 
doubts  still  cloud  my  mind,  yet  for  the  obedience  he 
hath  shown  to-day  I  will  at  least  allow  him  explana- 
tion. I  prithee  go,  my  lord,  and  make  it  known 
throughout  the  palace  that  if  the  Prince  of  Wales 
request  an  audience,  it  is  our  pleasure  that  he  be  ad- 
mitted." 

But  nothing  was  farther  from  Harry  Monmouth's 
thoughts  than  to  seek  an  interview  with  his  royal 


22O         Every  Inch  a  King 

father.  Not  one  word  did  he  address  to  the  sheriff 
or  his  companions  during  that  rapid  ride  back  to 
London,  through  the  city  and  over  London  Bridge. 
Even  when,  they  reached  Southwark  and,  galloping 
up  High  Street,  drew  rein  before  the  great,  gloomy 
prison,  whose  grim  walls  spoke  eloquently  of  the 
misery  within, — even  then  the  Prince  seemed  to  be 
entirely  oblivious  to  his  surroundings.  He  dis- 
mounted like  one  in  a  dream,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  left,  but  mechanically  followed  his  guard 
through  the  portal.  He  neither  saw  the  curious, 
amazed  glances  cast  upon  him  nor  heeded  the  low- 
voiced  conversation  between  the  sheriff  and  the 
wardens,  but  followed  obediently  wheresoever  they 
led  him  until  he  found  himself  alone  in  a  small  cell 
arranged  for  the  temporary  occupation  of  distin- 
guished prisoners,  most  of  whom  were  either 
promptly  executed  or  taken  to  the  Tower. 

The  clanging  of  the  bolts  behind  the  departing 
officers  aroused  Harry  from  his  revery.  He  started, 
and  gave  a  swift  glance  around  the  chamber.  In  the 
light  of  one  flickering  torch  he  noted  the  thick  stone 
walls,  the  low  ceiling,  the  uneven  floor,  the  high 
barred  window  from  which  came  a  faint  gleam  of 
twilight.  The  torch  was  fastened  upon  a  rude  stone 
bench,  which  was  the  only  furniture.  In  one  corner 
was  a  mass  of  straw  and  upon  it  a  heavy  blanket. 
There  were  a  few  dirty  rushes  upon  the  floor,  and 
near  the  door  a  mug  of  cold  water  stood,  beside  it  a 
plate  of  food,  which  the  warden  had  left  for  his 


Every  Inch  a  King         221 

illustrious  prisoner.  As  these  details  became  visible 
to  Harry's  eyes,  a  curious,  grim  smile  came  to  his 
lips.  "Truly,"  he  murmured,  "a  fit  abiding  place  for 
the  most  royal  prince,  Harry  of  Wales !" — and  rais- 
ing his  hand,  he  removed  from  his  head  the  golden 
coronet  which  he  had  still  retained.  The  torch  flick- 
ered upon  the  jewels  and  sent  straight  flashing 
gleams  around  the  gloomy  cell.  Harry  stood  a 
moment,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  symbol  of  his  rank, 
then  he  placed  it  upon  the  bench,  and  drawing  his 
rich  cloak  about  him,  sank  upon  the  straw  and  lay 
motionless,  intent  upon  his  thoughts.  How  long 
he  remained  thus  he  knew  not,  but  on  a  sudden  the 
bolts  were  drawn  back,  the  heavy  door  was  opened, 
and  the  glare  of  many  torches  filled  the  room  with 
light.  Harry  sprang  up  as  the  warden  advanced, 
saying  respectfully:  "My  lord,  the  King,  your 
father,  bids  us  set  you  free." 

The  Prince  bowed  with  a  certain  haughtiness,  re- 
placed the  golden  circlet  on  his  head,  and  followed 
him.  In  the  courtyard  he  found  the  royal  mes- 
sengers, who  started  when  they  saw  his  costume, 
and  greeted  him  with  the  utmost  deference.  Harry 
did  not  reply,  save  by  a  bow,  but  promptly  mounted 
his  horse;  and  there  was  something  in  his  face  that 
prevented  them  from  addressing  him  during  the 
journey. 

On  arriving  at  Cold  Harbor,  the  Prince  drew  rein. 
"My  lords,  I  thank  you  for  your  escort;  fare- 
well!" and  before  they  could  find  a  suitable  reply 


222          Every  Inch  a  King 

he  had  ridden  within  and  the  gates  were  shut  behind 
him. 

Of  course  the  events  of  the  night  were  known  to 
every  one  within  the  mansion.  Such  of  Harry's 
own  guard  as  had  not  gone  to  the  King  returned 
within  the  hour  to  tell  their  fellows  all  that  had 
taken  place,  enlarging  the  tale  with  picturesque  ad- 
ditions. The  utmost  excitement  reigned.  Their 
lord  sent  to  prison  like  a  common  thief !  England's 
heir,  the  best-beloved,  the  hope  of  the  nation,  to 
await  within  a  dungeon  the  King's  pleasure !  Would 
not  his  father  welcome  joyfully  the  chance  to  keep 
him  in  confinement  ?  Over  their  cups,  the  crowds  of 
soldiers  and  servants  discussed  the  situation  in  deep 
voices,  intense  with  eager  feeling.  "Oh,  if  ye  had 
but  seen  't !"  one  of  the  witnesses  was  saying.  "He 
called  to  us  to  free  the  prisoner,  and  then  up  sprang 
the  sheriff's  men  to  guard  him,  and  while  we  stood, 
uncertain  what  to  do,  Harry  Monmouth  comes  up 
to  the  justice  and  strikes  him  such  a  blow  o'  the 
cheek — "  "Peace,  with  thy  lies,"  cries  out  another, 
"he  never  struck  him!"  "How,  thou  fat  villain, 
have  I  no  eyes  ?  Can  I  not  see  what  lies  before  mine 
hand?"  "Thou  didst  never  see  Harry  Monmouth 
strike  a  blow,  I  warrant !"  "An'  I  did  not,  call  me 
rogue!"  "Thou  art  a  rogue  without  the  calling!" 
"Hold!"  cried  another,  "prithee,  on  with  the  tale. 
What  happened  after?"  The  two  guardsmen  con- 
tented themselves  with  glaring  at  each  other  for  a 
space,  then  he  of  the  free  wagging  tongue  went  on : 


Every  Inch  a  King         223 

"My  lord  chief  justice  frowned  at  Prince  Hal 
until  his  face  was  black  as  a  starless  night,  then  says 
he, — 'Thou  scurvy  rascal,  thou  thief  and  drunk- 
ard !'  " — "He  never  dared !"  cried  a  chorus  in  great 
excitement. 

After  this  there  was  no  possibility  of  calm.  High 
and  low,  the  steward  and  the  meanest  servant, 
the  commander  and  the  humblest  soldier  were 
mingled  in  one  great  mass  of  men  swaying  back  and 
forth  throughout  the  hall,  hissing  Gascoigne's 
name,  and  breaking  out  into  delighted  cheers  at  each 
new  plan  for  rescue  or  revenge.  Those  guardsmen 
who  had  weakly  allowed  their  lord  and  master  to  be 
taken  from  them,  without  one  blow  in  his  defence, 
were  roundly  scored,  and  only  their  vivid  descrip- 
tions of  their  helpless  amazement,  and  the  rapidity  of 
the  Prince's  departure,  served  to  pacify  the  general 
wrath  against  them. 

At  a  later  hour,  came  those  who  had  seen  the 
King,  bringing  the  joyful  news  that  the  prisoner 
would  be  speedily  released.  Scarcely  had  they 
comprehended  these  tidings — and  many  were  still 
incredulous  about  them — when  they  heard  the  cheers 
of  the  men-at-arms  at  the  gate,  and  a  moment  later 
Harry  was  himself  in  the  midst  of  them.  They 
crowded  forward  to  welcome  their  beloved  master 
with  every  expression  of  joy  and  relief,  but  at  sight 
of  his  face  the  cheers  died  upon  their  lips.  Harry 
was  very  pale,  and  as  he  gazed  at  them,  they  saw 
the  grief  and  shame  which  filled  his  heart.  He 


224         Every  Inch  a  King 

waved  them  back  and  raised  his  hand  for  silence, 
then  asked  brokenly : 

"Is  it  thus,  men,  that  ye  receive  me  when  I  come 
back  to  ye,  disgraced?  Will  ye  welcome  the  thief 
and  brawler  and  cheer  the  protector  of  criminals  ?  I 
have  this  day  been  branded  in  open  court  as  a  law- 
breaker and  evil  liver !  Will  ye  greet  such  a  man  as 
your  Prince?  Nay,  rather,  go  to  the  King  and  tell 
him  ye  will  no  longer  serve  his  ignoble  son.  At  day- 
break I  leave  London.  If  there  be  any  among  my 
soldiers  who  would  still  follow  Harry  Monmouth — 
but  not  the  Prince  of  Wales — let  them  prepare  to 
follow  me.  For  the  rest  of  you,  I  thank  you  for  your 
many  years  of  faithful  service  and  I  shall  not  forget 
your  love  for  me.  Be  it  your  charge,  steward,  to  see 
that  every  man  receives  his  due,  and  whatsoever 
remaineth  after  all  are  satisfied,  take  thereof  for 
thine  own  purposes  and  divide  the  rest  amongst 
them.  When  all  are  gone,  bar  the  gates  and  depart. 
Ye  have  heard.  I  bid  you  all  farewell." 

Amazed  and  troubled  they  parted  before  him,  and 
as  he  passed,  more  than  one  rough  hand  sought  to 
brush  away  the  unaccustomed  moisture  from  eager 
eyes,  and  more  than  one  voice  trembled  over  a  "God 
bless  thee."  The  Prince  made  no  attempt  to  hide  the 
tears  that  well-nigh  blinded  him,  but  hurried  from 
the  hall  to  his  own  chamber,  there  to  spend  the  night 
in  bitter  thoughts. 

When  finally  the  first  faint  beams  of  daylight 
entered  his  high  window  Harry  rose  hurriedly,  clad 


Every  Inch  a  King         225 

himself  in  his  plainest  garments,  made  his  few 
necessary  preparations,  and  descended  to  the  great 
hall.  Only  half  a  score  of  men-at-arms  were  there, 
but  they  had  provided  food  for  him,  and  the  ex- 
hausted Prince  gladly  partook  of  it.  He  ate  hur- 
riedly and  in  absolute  silence,  then  bade  them  bring 
the  roan  mare  to  the  courtyard.  He  lingered  for  a 
moment,  looking  his  last  upon  the  place  where  he 
had  spent  many  of  his  happiest  hours.  The  black- 
ened rafters  spoke  eloquently  of  the  merry  feasts 
that  had  been  prepared  beneath  them;  the  great 
oaken  walls  had  echoed  the  jests  and  songs.  Upon 
yon  dais  had  sat  many  of  the  noblest  men  in  Eng- 
land— the  Beauforts,  Scrope,  Earl  Arundel,  and 
Suffolk  and  his  son,  Westmoreland  and  Warwick, 
the  learned  Courtenay,  Carpenter,  and  Rudborn, 
the  poets  Lydgate  and  Occleve,  and  above  all  his 
brothers — Thomas,  now  winning  England's  bat- 
tles, and  John,  presiding  over  England's  council. 
Ay,  the  day  had  been  when  these  two  had  been 
proud  and  happy  to  sit  upon  Harry's  right  and  left, 
and  greet  him  as  their  host  and  noble  lord.  Oh, 
the  merriment  of  those  bygone  days — the  jests,  the 
songs,  the  free-flowing  bowl !  And  one  night,  when 
a  rich  feast  was  spread,  and  the  guests  were  of  the 
noblest  in  the  land,  Gascoigne  had  been  among 
them — ay,  Gascoigne !  and  he  had  sat  upon  the  dais 
there  and  entered  heartily  into  the  gay  life,  and  even 
jested  and  joined  in  a  merry  song,  and  had  been 
proud  to  sup  with  the  Prince  of  Wales.  And  last 


226         Every  Inch  a  King 

night  that  same  royal  host  had  bent  his  knee  before 
his  one-time  guest  and  received  from  his  lips  a  rat- 
ing, the  remembrance  of  which  brought  the  crimson 
to  his  cheeks.  Was  he,  indeed,  awake?  Could  it  be 
true?  Was  he  condemned  before  the  world  for 
faults  which  made  his  people  blush  to  think  of  him  ? 
Torn  by  a  thousand  bitter,  cruel  thoughts,  Harry 
threw  his  riding  cloak  about  him,  gave  one  final, 
longing  look  around  the  hall,  then  slowly  passed 
the  door,  never  to  return,  and  leaving  behind  him 
the  free  and  happy  life  which  was  henceforth  to  be 
a  memory  alone. 

Resolutely  putting  the  past  behind  him,  and 
striving  to  forget  there  was  a  future,  he  hurried  to 
the  courtyard;  but  in  the  doorway  stopped  and 
gazed  around  him  in  amazement.  Nearest  him 
stood  an  esquire  holding  his  beautiful  mare,  but  be- 
hind were  scores  upon  scores  of  horses,  crowding 
every  inch  of  open  space,  and  a  man  mounted  upon 
each.  As  the  Prince  appeared  every  one  bared  his 
head  and  bowed  low  in  the  saddle.  Harry's  quick 
eyes  noted  that  all  seemed  prepared  for  a  long  jour- 
ney, and  he  demanded  hastily:  "What  means  this, 
sirs,  why  are  ye  here?" 

"My  lord,"  answered  the  steward,  who  sat  his 
horse  near  by,  "you  gave  permission  to  those 
who  would  follow  you  to  assemble  here  at  day- 
break. They  are  here,  my  lord,  and  not  one  man  is 
missing!" 

The  color  flamed  into  the  Prince's  cheeks,  a  glad 


Every  Inch  a  King         227 

light  flashed  to  his  eyes,  but  he  answered  quickly, — 
"This  must  not  be!  Would  ye  follow  a  man  dis- 
graced?" 

"Ay,  we  would  follow,"  came  the  deep  chorus  of 
two  hundred  voices. 

"Bethink  ye,  I  have  neither  gold  nor  place.  Even 
to  my  ears  have  come  the  rumors  that  I  shall  be 
attainted  and  exiled  from  the  land!  Now,  truly, 
there  will  be  no  delay.  Would  ye  follow  a  penniless 
fugitive  ?" 

"We  follow,"  came  back  the  answer. 

"To  exile?"  demanded  Harry  sternly. 

"Ay,  to  hell !"  cried  a  deep  voice.  And  the  two 
hundred  echoed,  "Ay,  to  hell !" 

"Come,  then,"  answered  the  Prince;  and  with 
cheers  that  rent  the  air  they  rode  after  him  out  be- 
tween the  gates,  and  with  never  a  backward  look  or 
a  faltering  heart  followed  him  joyfully  past  the  city 
walls,  not  knowing  and  not  caring  whither  they 
were  bound  since  Harry  Monmouth  led  them  on 
their  way. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"For  who,  alas !  has  lived, 
Nor   in   the   watches   of   the   night   recalled 
Words  he  has  wished  unsaid  and  deeds  undone?" 

ROGERS. 

"Mv  lords,  the  time  has  come  for  us  to  act."  It 
was  the  Baron  Scrope  who  spoke — the  royal  treas- 
urer addressing  the  English  council  which  had  as- 
sembled in  one  of  the  chambers  of  Westminster. 
The  King,  being  in  better  health  than  for  many 
weeks,  was  present  in  person;  at  his  right  hand  sat 
Prince  John,  who,  in  spite  of  his  extreme  youth, 
was  so  grave  and  thoughtful  that  he  was  judged  to 
be  exceeding  wise  and  entirely  worthy  of  his  high 
place.  At  the  King's  left  was  Archbishop  Arundel, 
the  chancellor;  while  Westmoreland,  Warwick, 
Scrope  and  Stanley  made  up  their  number — Gas- 
coigne,  being  engaged  upon  the  bench,  did  not  ap- 
pear. It  was  the  beginning  of  December,  and  only 
three  days  after  the  Prince's  arrest.  That  event  was 
still  eagerly  discussed,  and  no  one  felt  surprised  that 
it  should  be  alluded  to  in  council.  For  several 
months,  indeed  since  Harry's  dismissal  from  their 
midst,  many  of  the  King's  advisers  Tiad  advocated 
a  petition  to  Parliament,  begging  it  to  declare 
Thomas  of  Clarence  heir  apparent.  The  archbishop, 
ably  seconded  by  Stanley  and  Gascoigne,  was  espe- 


Every  Inch  a  King         229 

cially  eager;  and  Scrope  had,  with  much  display  of 
reluctance,  and — "for  the  good  of  the  nation" — 
joined  his  voice  to  theirs.  It  was  what  he  most  de- 
sired; for  he  felt  that  Harry's  banishment  would 
make  his  personal  triumph  complete,  and  to-day  he 
believed  that  his  time  had  come. 

"Ye  know,  my  lords,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  Eng- 
land's king  must  be  the  noblest  of  the  royal  house. 
It  was  for  this  reason  that  we  decreed  the  retire- 
ment of  Richard,  and  in  his  plaee  seated  the  Duke 
of  Hereford  on  the  throne."  He  bowed  low  to  the 
King  as  he  spoke,  and  Henry  smiled  slightly.  "We 
love  Prince  Harry  well,  but  we  cannot  deny  that  he 
has  many  faults.  While  we  trusted  in  his  reforma- 
tion we  stayed  our  hand;  but  now  his  sins  have 
forced  my  lord  chief  justice  to  punish  him  like  any 
common  lawbreaker.  Methinks  this  act  must  force 
us  to  decision." 

Arundel  glanced  at  the  King's  troubled  face  with 
a  grim  smile.  "Do  you  hesitate,  my  liege?" 

Henry  did  not  meet  his  eyes,  but  answered 
slowly:  "I  would  the  boy  might  answer  to  the 
charges.  I  cannot  think  that  he  is  beyond  repen- 
tance." 

The  archbishop  laughed  scornfully. — "My  lord," 
he  said,  "you  were  ever  too  merciful.  Your  High- 
ness's  son  is  known  to  drink  and  swagger;  he  has 
been  charged  with  theft,  and  it  is  proven  that  he  is 
ever  ready  to  protect  a  criminal.  Think  you  that 


230         Every  Inch  a  King 

Englishmen  will  obey  and  reverence  a  king  who 
was  committed  to  the  jail?" 

"His  very  yielding  proves  a  nobler  spirit,"  cried 
Warwick  hastily. 

"This  is  odd  reasoning,  sir,"  replied  Arundel; 
"thou  then  proclaimest  thy  fondness  for  a  milksop 
— a  feeble  coward,  who  dares  not  strike  a  blow  in 
his  own  defence!  Suppose  that  I  should  bid  him 
hang  himself!  Wouldst  thou  not  love  him  an'  he 
did  obey  me?" 

"My  lord,  thy  argument  is  none  too  wise,"  be- 
gan the  Earl  of  Westmoreland  coldly.  "Hast  no 
respect  for  the  ancient  laws  of  England?" 

Arundel  bit  his  lip.  "Thou  dost  not  understand, 
Neville,"  he  said, — but  the  earl  cut  him  short.  "I 
understand  thy  hatred  of  Harry  Monmouth,  and 
that  thou  desirest  Thomas  for  Prince  of  Wales,  nor 
do  I  think  that  thou  art  in  the  wrong ;  but  I  will  not 
have  thee  use  false  arguments." 

The  archbishop  flushed.  "If  thou  canst  prove  to 
me  that  it  was  false — " 

"Hearken,  then,  and  thou  shalt  have  the  proof," 
answered  Neville  promptly.  "Is  not  the  Parliament 
more  mighty  than  the  King?  Nay,  I  am  guilty  of 
no  disrespect,  his  Highness  will  acknowledge  the 
truth  of  it." 

"Ay,  cousin,"  answered  Henry  smoothly,  "thou 
art  right.  Proceed  then  to  thy  further  argument." 

Westmoreland  gave  a  triumphant  glance  around 


Every  Inch  a  King         231 

him,  and  continued  impressively:  "What  is  the 
highest  duty  of  Parliament?  To  make  the  laws 
whereby  our  land  is  governed.  Our  safety  and  our 
welfare  alike  depend  upon  prompt  obedience  to  these 
laws.  Therefore,  when  our  Prince  submitted  his 
own  person  to  the  decrees  of  justice,  he  showed  a 
spirit  of  humility  that  doth  belong  unto  the  noblest 
minds.  Art  answered,  lord  archbishop?  Art  con- 
tent?" 

Arundel  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled 
coldly.  "Thou  arguest  well,  Neville,  and  elo- 
quently. Wilt  thou  proceed  and  prove  the  Prince  a 
hero?  Wilt  thou  deny  the  charges  made  against 
him?" 

"I  will  deny  that  he  is  proven  guilty!"  came  the 
bold  answer. 

Henry  looked  up  quickly.  "My  lord,  I  thank  thee 
for  thy  confidence.  Methinks  my  hope  is  stronger 
than  before." 

Arundel  was  alarmed.  Could  it  be  that  their  plan 
was  to  fail  at  the  last  moment  ?  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
with  rapid  speech, — "Sire,  I  trust  you  will  not  care- 
lessly deny  the  favor  that  we  ask.  Were  your  High- 
ness's  eldest  son  a  noble  man,  no  heart  would  throb 
more  joyously  than  mine;  but  he  is  proven  dissolute 
and  false.  Methinks  you  do  forget  his  conspiracy 
against  your  royal  person!" 

The  King  sighed  and  bowed  his  head.  This  was 
indeed  a  fact  and  not  a  rumor.  Arundel  saw  his 
advantage  and  hurried  on : 


232         Every  Inch  a  King 

"His  life  has,  during  the  past  year,  been  filled 
with  brawls  and  midnight  robberies,  and  his  pres- 
ence before  Gascoigne  proved  that  he  did  delight  to 
shield  a  felon  from  the  law's  revenge.  You  have 
not  forgot  the  charges  made  against  him  of  using 
the  funds  intended  for  Calais — " 

"That  charge  was  proven  false,"  cried  Warwick 
sharply. 

Arundel  laughed.  "Ay,  two  soldiers  in  the 
Prince's  pay  have  so  declared!  My  lord,  thou  art 
too  hasty  in  thy  love.  Sire,"  he  continued  gravely, 
"these  stains  upon  Prince  Harry's  name  seem  ample 
reason  for  his  banishment.  His  base  conspiracy 
against  yourself  is  worthy  of  the  punishment  of 
death.  You  have  been  very  gentle  with  his  faults, 
and  by  your  kindness  only  spurred  him  on.  Yet 
were  this  all,  I  would  not  urge  you  thus,  but  he  has 
brought  upon  us  ridicule  and  shame  by  the  ill-ad- 
vised alliance  with  Duke  John.  He's  shown,  me- 
thinks,  he  cannot  govern  wisely.  As  for  my  Lord 
Prince  Thomas,  Duke  of  Clarence,  his  life  is  pure; 
his  virtues  are  unquestioned ;  he  has  ever  been  a  true 
and  loyal  son,  and  he  has  proved  his  wisdom  in  the 
council  and  now  displays  his  valor  on  the  field.  Par- 
liament would  joyfully  proclaim  him  heir.  My  lord, 
we  do  not  seek  for  Harry's  death,  but  simply  for  his 
peaceful  banishment.  He  shall  receive  a  suitable 
allowance  and  doubtless  foreign  monarchs  will  re- 
ceive him.  Do  with  him  as  you  will,  my  noble  lord, 
but  grant  that  Thomas  may  be  Prince  of  Wales." 


Every  Inch  a  King         233 

A  troubled  silence  followed,  while  the  King  con- 
sidered all  the  arguments  used  to  convince  him. 
Then,  glancing  slowly  from  one  face  to  another,  he 
spoke :  "We've  heard  the  pleasure  of  my  lord  arch- 
bishop, but  we  would  know  what  every  one  desireth. 
Lord  Scrope  of  Masham,  thou  hast  urged  his  exile." 

"Ay,  sire,"  answered  the  baron  promptly.  "When 
Harry  Monmouth  sought  your  Highness's  death  I 
was  convinced  my  love  had  been  misplaced.  I  can- 
not root  all  feeling  from  my  heart,  but  for  my  coun- 
try's welfare  I  ask  his  punishment." 

A  slight  smile  played  about  Arundel's  lips,  but 
Warwick  glanced  at  Westmoreland  and  frowned — 
the  brave  and  chivalrous  earl  loved  the  Prince  well, 
and  instinctively  distrusted  Baron  Scrope.  Henry 
glanced  toward  Stanley, — "What  sayest  thou,  Sir 
John?" 

The  knight  replied  unhesitatingly,  "Harry  must 
be  banished  and  Prince  Thomas  declared  the  heir." 

"And  thou,  my  son  of  Lancaster,  what  dost  thou 
wish  ?"  the  King  demanded.  Every  eye  was  turned 
upon  the  lad  sitting  so  silently  and  gravely  among 
these  older  men.  For  which  brother  would  he  give 
his  influence?  In  his  heart  Henry  hoped  for  a  spir- 
ited defence  of  the  accused  Prince, — if  Thomas  him- 
self had  been  present  the  debate  would  have  ended 
swiftly.  But  John  replied  with  stately  condescen- 
sion: "My  brother  Harry  loves  me  well,  my  liege; 
I  cannot  speak  against  him." 

The  King  flashed  an  indignant  glance  at  him,  and 


234         Every  Inch  a  King 

as  he  saw  Arundel's  satisfaction,  he  exclaimed  in 
angry  disappointment, — "It  seems  thy  love  for 
Harry  scarcely  equals  that  which  he  has  ever  shown 
for  thee.  Hast  thou  no  word  to  speak  in  his  de- 
fence?" 

John  looked  mildly  surprised.  "Methought  that 
'twas  a  sacrifice  of  duty  unto  love  merely  to  hold  my 
peace.  What  possible  defence  could  I  advance  ?  If 
I  said  aught,  my  conscience  would  impel  me  to  urge 
his  banishment,  and  this  I  will  not  do !" 

The  King  frowned  deeply.  "'Tis  well  that  thou 
art  silent,  oh,  virtuous  son!"  he  exclaimed  with 
scorn;  and  amid  the  suppressed  laughter  of  Scrope 
and  the  chancellor  he  turned,  almost  in  despair,  and 
addressed  those  two  who  had  not  yet  declared  their 
final  purpose.  "My  lords  of  Westmoreland  and 
Warwick,  ye  have  both  freely  expressed  your  love 
for  Harry  and  for  me.  What  say  ye — shall  we  ban- 
ish him  from  England?" 

They  gazed  at  each  other,  troubled  and  doubtful ; 
then  Neville  answered  for  them  both.  "Sire,"  he 
said,  "we  chiefly  do  desire  the  highest  good  for 
England,  and  we  suggest  that  the  Prince  of  Wales 
receive  a  free  and  impartial  trial  upon  the  charges 
that  are  brought  against  him.  We  do  both  hope  and 
verily  believe  that  he  will  be  found  entirely  innocent; 
but  if  he's  proven  guilty,  banish  him." 

The  King  rested  his  head  upon  his  hand  and 
seemed  to  be  gazing  into  the  gloomy  future.  At  last 
he  answered  slowly:  "Methinks  that  I  must  bend 


Every  Inch  a  King         235 

unto  your  will.  Cousin  Neville,  a  trial  were  worse 
than  useless,  the  proof  against  him  is  too  strong  for 
hope,  and  I  do  certainly  believe  him  guilty  of  evil 
living,  protection  of  criminals  and  the  desire  for  my 
throne  and  life.  His  trial  could  only  be  a  public  dis- 
grace, and  I  will  not  submit  him  to  this  shame.  For, 
lords,  in  my  last  weary  hours  of  life,  methinks  I  love 
this  wayward  son  of  mine.  Tis  nigh  a  year  since  I 
did  see  his  face  and  I  do  often  hunger  for  his  pres- 
ence. Therefore,  my  lords,  I  would  be  gentle  with 
him,  yet  I  must  yield  my  love  unto  my  duty.  Now, 
hearken!  If—" 

A  sudden  rap  upon  the  door  was  followed  by  the 
entrance  of  a  horseman,  splashed  with  mud,  and 
breathless  with  hard  riding,  who  came  swiftly  for- 
ward and,  kneeling,  presented  to  the  King  a  packet. 
Henry's  face  brightened.  "Ha!  Art  from  France?" 

"Ay,  my  lord,"  the  messenger  answered.  "The 
Duke  of  Clarence  commends  him  to  your  Highness 
and  bade  me  bring  these  letters  with  all  speed." 

The  King  rose  to  his  feet  and  held  aloft  the  packet, 
saying  impressively:  "Lords,  my  decision  will  not 
be  delayed,  for  here  I  hold  the  fate  of  Harry  Mon- 
mouth !  If,  when  I  break  these  seals  I  find  within 
the  tidings  of  present  or  swift-coming  victory,  then 
shall  the  Prince  be  banished  from  the  land  and 
Thomas  be  acknowledged  as  the  future  king.  If  I 
do  find  defeat,  then  as  I  live,  Harry  shall  continue 
Prince  of  Wales !" 

With  fingers  that  trembled  in  their  eagerness  he 


236         Every  Inch  a  King 

opened  the  letters.  Every  eye  was  on  him;  every 
man  leaned  forward  and  waited  breathlessly  for  the 
final  word.  He  read,  and  his  eyes  grew  wide  with 
amazement;  he  clutched  the  sheets  and  his  breath 
came  in  quick  gasps;  wonder  and  bewilderment 
grew  upon  his  face;  then  suddenly  he  brought  his 
hand  down  upon  the  great  table  near  him  with  such 
force  that  one  would  have  thought  a  crash  of  thun- 
der sounded,  and  raising  his  head,  he  exclaimed  de- 
fiantly: "By  Heaven,  but  I  have  won  against  ye 
all!"  Then  turning  swiftly  to  Lord  Warwick,  he 
cried  out, — "My  lord,  begone,  and  mount  thy  swift- 
est steed !  Ride  with  thy  might  to  London — to  Cold 
Harbor !  Say  to  the  Prince  our  sentence  is  revoked ; 
we  do  forget  what  evil  he  has  done,  and  have  re- 
membrance only  for  his  virtues.  It  is  our  pleasure 
he  attend  upon  us  within  the  hour.  Tell  him  we  are 
in  council  and  have  sore  need  of  his  long-proven 
wisdom.  He  shall  receive  his  own  exalted  place. 
Stay  not  to  question — go  with  speed,  my  lord !" 

"Your  Grace  is  mad !"  cried  the  archbishop  hotly, 
and  thought  to  keep  the  earl  from  departure,  but 
Warwick  swiftly  passed  him  and  was  gone. 

With  amazement  and  alarm  upon  their  faces  the 
councillors  pressed  forward,  demanding  an  explana- 
tion. The  King  thrust  the  letters  toward  them,  and 
they  seized  them  frantically  and  struggled  for  their 
possession.  So  great  was  the  confusion  and  bewil- 
derment that  it  was  not  until  the  sands  of  the  glass 
had  run  a  quarter  of  their  course  that  all  were  ac- 


Every  Inch  a  King         237 

quainted  with  the  contents  of  the  duke's  last  mes- 
sage, and  when  they  knew  it,  they  could  only  gaze  at 
one  another  in  blank  dismay.  Arundel,  proud  and 
self-reliant,  could  not  conceal  the  pallor  of  his  cheek, 
and  the  King  saw  and  rejoiced  that  this  powerful, 
arrogant  man  had  received  a  severe  blow.  The 
cause  was  told  very  simply  in  Thomas's  letters,  and 
amplified  by  the  messenger's  statements.  In  sub- 
stance it  was  briefly  this — that  England  had  been 
made  a  catspaw  to  pull  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire! 
Her  army  had  been  used  to  capture  numerous  towns 
from  the  Burgundians,  and  then  the  rival  powers 
had  peacefully  concluded  an  alliance,  and  under  an 
agreement,  made  on  the  I4th  of  November,  Clarence 
had  been  offered  a  small  sum  of  money,  and  forced 
to  withdraw  with  his  army  to  Guienne.  In  short, 
the  Orleans  alliance  had  been  abruptly  terminated; 
and  whereas  England  had  withdrawn  with  dignity 
and  of  her  own  free  will  from  the  former  Burgun- 
dian  alliance,  she  had  now  been  carelessly  thrust 
aside  when  her  army  was  no  longer  needed, — as  if 
she  were  a  weakling  for  stronger  powers  to  play 
with!  Little  wonder  that  the  archbishop  felt  that 
the  hour  of  his  downfall  had  arrived.  Without 
doubt  the  Prince  would  be  reinstated  in  full  power, 
and  he  must  bow  his  head  before — Beaufort, — or 
Sir  John  Falstaff? 

But  the  storm  that  was  gathering  around  him 
never  broke.  Even  as  the  King  in  his  triumph 
turned  upon  him,  recalled  to  his  mind  all  he  had  said 


238         Every  Inch  a  King 

and  done  against  Harry  Monmouth,  and  told  him 
plainly  that  did  he  hope  for  further  favor  he  must 
bow  his  knee  and  humbly  beg  for  pardon  of  the 
Prince, — even  as  Scrope,  appalled  by  the  sudden 
failure  of  his  plans,  was  striving  desperately  to  pre- 
pare for  this  tremendous  crisis  in  events — this  unex- 
pected and  most  public  meeting  with  one  whom  he 
had  wronged  so  cruelly, — in  the  midst  of  all  this 
amazement  and  dismay,  the  door  was  hurriedly 
opened  and  Warwick  entered — alone.  The  King 
started  forward.  "My  lord,  where  is  my  son?  He 
follows  close?"  Warwick  hesitated,  and  Henry 
saw  the  trouble  on  his  brow.  Startled,  and  fearing 
he  knew  not  what,  Henry  cried  out  again,  "Where 
is  my  son  ?  Where  is  the  Prince  of  Wales  ?" 

The  earl,  who  understood  as  did  no  other  man  the 
doubting  love  and  long-repressed  desire  which  had 
so  tortured  the  royal  heart,  dared  not  meet  the 
father's  eyes,  but  answered  gravely:  "My  lord, 
Prince  Harry  is  not  within  the  city.  Upon  the  day 
following  his  arrest  he  left  at  daybreak  with  his 
entire  household,  equipped  for  a  lengthy  and  distant 
journey.  Cold  Harbor  is  deserted;  its  gates  are 
barred.  No  man  can  tell  me  whither  he  has  gone." 

The  King  in  his  keen  dismay  and  sorrow  held  out 
a  trembling  hand  toward  Lord  Warwick  as  if  seek- 
ing for  both  physical  and  mental  support.  "Gone !" 
he  cried  brokenly.  "Gone,  without  one  word  ?  Is  it 
the  truth  that  he  indeed  cares  not  when  I  am  ill,  and 
troubled,  and  alone?  He  knows  that  my  days  are 


Every  Inch  a  King         239 

very  few,  and  numbered,  and  yet  he  doth  leave  Lon- 
don secretly.  Oh,  my  son,  my  son !  must  I  then  close 
mine  eyes  without  a  glimpse  of  thy  sweet  face  which 
I  do  love  too  late  ?  How  often  have  I  spurned  thee 
from  my  side,  and  now  my  heart  doth  call  to  thee  in 
vain.  Oh  God,  have  pity  on  me!  Richard!  Nev- 
ille !  Come  near  me,  friends,  I  prithee,  or  I  fall !" 

They  caught  him  in  their  arms  and  gently  bore 
him  into  another  chamber.  England's  King  had  pre- 
sided over  his  last  council.  The  end  was  drawing 
near. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"Tell  me,  sweet  lord,  what  is't  that  takes  from  thee 
Thy  stomach,  pleasure,  and  thy  golden  sleep? 
Why  dost  thou  bend  thine  eyes  upon  the  earth, 
And  start  so  often  when  thou  sitt'st  alone? 
Why  hast  thou  lost  the  fresh  blood  in  thy  cheeks, 
And  given  my  treasures,  and  my  rights  of  thee, 
To  thick-ey'd  musing  and  curs'd  melancholy?" 

HENRY  IV. 

UPON  a  rocky  eminence  overlooking  the  little 
town  of  Pontefract,  which  nestles  at  its  base,  and 
commanding  extensive  and  picturesque  views  of  the 
beautiful  country,  was  situated  one  of  the  most 
famous  castles  in  all  England.  In  the  midst  of  its 
surrounding  earthworks,  the  gray  walls  rose  grim, 
stately  and  magnificent.  A  deep  fosse  encircled  the 
whole,  with  the  barbican  and  drawbridge  at  the 
southwest  angle  giving  entrance  to  the  great  keep  at 
the  western  end,  below  which  lay  an  extensive 
bailey.  The  eight  strong,  round  towers  were  at 
equal  distances  in  the  curtain-wall  of  the  enclosure, 
and  at  the  northeast  angle  was  a  rich  chapel  served 
by  five  priests.  Ilbert  de  Lacy  had  done  his  work 
full  well.  Although  three  hundred  years  had  passed 
since  the  Norman  built  this  noble  structure,  Ponte- 
fract Castle  still  ranked  as  one  of  the  strongest  and 
grandest  fortresses  in  the  land ; — its  situation  upon 
the  towering  rock,  its  extensive  fortifications,  its 


Every  Inch  a  King         241 

massive  walls,  in  places  over  ten  feet  in  thickness, 
making  it  well-nigh  impregnable. 

Thither  Harry  of  Monmouth  journeyed  in  those 
early  December  days,  riding,  grave  and  silent,  at  the 
head  of  his  devoted  followers.  He  had  left  London 
with  but  a  vague  idea  of  his  destination,  his  one  im- 
pulse being  to  leave  the  capital  as  far  behind  him 
as  possible.  With  this  intent  he  had  turned  toward 
the  north,  and  ridden  up  the  great  white  road  of 
Ermine  Street.  By  the  time  they  reached  Brau- 
gling,  however,  and  found  lodgings  for  the  night, 
his  decision  had  been  made.  Expecting  an  imme- 
diate decree  of  banishment,  the  Prince  desired  to  be 
near  Scotland;  and  in  his  present  mood  he  could  ill 
brook  the  thought  of  being  the  guest  unto  a  noble- 
man. Therefore,  he  would  go  to  the  royal  castle 
of  Pontefract,  whose  adjacency  to  York, — that 
busy,  ancient  town  which  always  knew  the  latest 
London  news,  would  permit  of  any  message  reach- 
ing him,  yet  whose  gloomy  walls  would  afford  him 
the  seclusion  that  he  craved. 

Harry  was  received  with  joyful  welcome  at  God- 
manchester,  Ancaster,  Lincoln,  and  other  cities 
through  which  he  passed ;  but  he  had  little  heart  for 
merriment,  refused  the  honors  which  they  sought  to 
give  him,  and  passed  on  hurriedly  to  his  journey's 
end. 

Great  was  the  excitement  in  the  little  Yorkish 
borough  when  the  Prince  arrived  in  their  midst 
accompanied  by  an  extensive  train,  and  the  news 


242          Every  Inch  a  King 

spread  that  he  was  to  tarry  at  the  castle  indefi- 
nitely. Not  since  Archbishop  Scrope  had  been 
condemned  to  death  within  the  walls  for  conspiracy 
against  the  King — an  event  which  took  place  seven 
years  before — had  one  of  the  blood  royal  visited 
Pontefract;  and  men,  women  and  children  made 
haste  to  prepare  a  royal  welcome  for  their  guest. 
Harry  was  forced  to  appear  at  the  great  banquet 
given  by  the  mayor  in  his  honor.  For  the  people's 
sake  he  robed  himself  in  choice  garments,  and  tried 
to  forget  his  dismal  thoughts  that  he  might  receive 
their  kindness  graciously.  The  humble  citizens  who 
entertained  him  thought  that  there  had  never  lived 
so  noble  a  prince  before.  His  handsome  face  and 
graceful  carriage  impressed  them ;  his  gentle  dignity 
and  charm  of  manner  fascinated  them,  and  ere  the 
feasting  ended  they  would  gladly  have  given  their 
last  twopence  if  he  would  only  have  dined  with  them 
again. 

But  the  Prince  had  made  his  wishes  plainly  known. 
"My  friends,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  into  the  north, 
leaving  behind  me  the  gay  London  life,  and  seeking 
for  rest  and  peace  at  Pontefract.  It  is  my  pleasure 
that  ye  should  forget  me,  for  I  shall  seldom  leave  the 
castle  walls.  I  do  not  travel  as  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
nor  shall  I  visit  York  or  other  places.  Give  me  leave 
to  dwell  in  quietness,  and  grant  me  your  protection 
from  intruders." 

Although  it  was  a  great  disappointment  to  all  that 
the  Prince  would  not  live  in  royal  state,  they  under- 


Every  Inch  a  King         243 

stood  his  wishes  and  jealously  guarded  him  from 
formal  visits  of  neighboring  dignitaries.  And  if 
they  missed  the  hunts  and  splendid  banquets,  they 
were  exceeding  proud  that  he  had  graced  their  feast, 
and  that  no  others  might  share  his  blessed  presence. 
From  time  to  time  he  would  appear  among  them, 
returning  their  every  greeting  graciously,  stopping 
to  speak  with  some  merry  child,  or  to  bring  color  to 
an  invalid's  cheek  by  his  sunny  smile  and  cheering 
words. 

The  people  had  heard  vague  tales  of  his  riotous 
living,  and  wondered  much  at  his  grave  and  quiet 
dignity;  but  his  bearing  delighted  them  and  ere  a 
week  had  passed  they  understood  why  the  London- 
ers so  worshipped  him.  Their  proudest  moments 
were  when  some  York  merchants  or  knights  of  the 
shire  would  approach  with  their  trains,  and  the 
mayor  himself  would  frequently  appear  in  person  to 
inform  them,  with  ill-concealed  triumph,  that  "His 
Grace  has  come  to  us  for  rest  and  peace;  it  is  not 
possible  that  we  admit  you."  The  noble  visitors 
were  usually  most  indignant;  but  argue  or  threaten 
as  they  would,  the  gates  remained  closed  to  them, 
and  they  were  obliged  to  ride  home  again  without  a 
glimpse  of  the  famous  Harry  Monmouth. 

The  Prince  was  very  grateful  for  this  protection, 
and  the  citizens  were  more  than  rewarded  by  his 
quiet  yet  sincere,  "I  thank  you."  Each  day  he  sent 
a  soldier  into  York  to  learn  if  any  message  or  proc- 
lamation had  been  received  from  London.  He  was 


244         Every  Inch  a  King 

acquainted  with  the  failure  of  the  Orleans  alliance, 
and  also  the  rumor  that  the  King  was  failing  rapidly, 
both  of  which  caused  him  much  anxiety,  but  no  de- 
cree of  banishment  reached  him,  nor  any  message 
from  the  dying  King.  Of  his  father's  desire  for  him 
he  had  no  idea ;  for  the  monarch,  cut  to  the  heart  by 
his  son's  departure,  and  moved  by  the  archbishop's 
continued  arguments,  would  not  permit  Warwick  to 
send  for  him. — "Nay,  since  he  cares  not  for  me,  e'en 
let  him  go ;  I'd  rather  die  remembering  his  face  than 
with  his  actual  but  loveless  presence."  Arundel,  of 
course,  was  careful  to  prevent  the  kno'wledge  of  the 
King's  real  feelings  from  being  known — he  still 
hoped  that  did  Bolingbroke  die -without  a  reconcilia- 
tion, Prince  Thomas  might  be  crowned. 

So  Harry  Monmouth  lingered  within  the  distant 
castle,  spending  many  weary  hours  upon  the  battle- 
ments engrossed  in  gloomy  thoughts.  If  this  cruel 
knowledge  of  men's  harsh  opinions  had  but  reached 
him  in  a  more  gentle  manner!  Were  there  no 
friends  who  could  have  come  to  him  and  gently  told 
him  that  he  was  unwise?  If  only  Warwick,  West- 
moreland, ay,  or  Gascoigne  himself,  had  visited 
Cold  Harbor  and  spoken  thus : — "Men  say  evil 
things  about  thee.  Because  thou  drinkest  with  Fal- 
staff,  Bardolph,  Poins,  they  claim  thou  lovest 
naught  but  wine  and  revelry.  Because  thou  dost 
return  the  moneys  that  they  seize,  there  be  those 
that  think  thou  hast  had  a  share  in  the  robberies. 
Thy  efforts  to  preserve  thy  friends  from  harm  have 


Every  Inch  a  King         245 

made  men  say  thou  wouldst  protect  all  crime." 
— If  some  one  had  only  put  it  thus  before  him, 
quietly  and  without  witnesses,  he  would  have  seen 
that  he  was  doing  wrong,  and  stopped  in  haste ;  but 
they  had  barred  him  from  council  and  from  court, 
forced  him,  by  insults  and  by  scorn,  to  seek  what 
pleasure  and  comfort  these  friends  offered  him; 
denied  him  all  share  in  government  or  warfare ;  held 
their  peace  when  they  saw  him  doing  wrong;  then, 
suddenly,  without  one  word  of  warning,  or  even 
seeking  to  learn  whether  rumor  spoke  the  truth, 
Gascoigne  had  charged  him  with  living  an  evil  life, 
breaking  the  laws  of  England  and  protecting  crim- 
inals— declared  all  this  before  his  friends  and  ser- 
vants, before  the  throng  of  curious  spectators,  and 
had  given  him  no  chance  to  justify  his  actions,  but 
straightway  committed  him  to  the  common  jail !  It 
was  not  wounded  pride,  however,  nor  a  sense  of 
injury  which  caused  the  Prince  to  dwell  upon  that 
public  rebuke.  True,  his  disgrace  had  hurt  him 
keenly  and  he  felt  that  Gascoigne  had  been  most 
severe, — ay,  even  unjust,  for  was  not  every  man 
entitled  to  speak  in  his  own  defence? — but  it  was 
the  opinion  which  the  justice  held  of  him  and  which 
others  undoubtedly  shared,  that  brought  to  him  such 
intense  grief  and  shame.  Was  it  possible  that  they 
could  so  easily  misjudge  him?  That  actions  which 
were  in  themselves  innocent  could  be  transformed 
by  a  word  into  sin?  Then  he  began  to  ask  himself 
the  question — was  he  indeed  so  innocent  of  wrong? 


246         Every  Inch  a  King 

He  had  not  intended  to  do  evil,  but  doubtless  few 
sinners  so  intended.  He  had  spent  his  hours  in 
drinking  with  his  friends — what  if  his  desperate 
situation  had  forced  him  to  it — did  that  make  the 
fact  less  real  ?  Never  had  he  taken  part  in  robberies, 
yet  when  he  used  his  money  to  replace  the  thefts  was 
he  not  aiding  his  friends  in  committing  them  ?  And 
he  had,  indeed,  protected  Falstaff  and  Poins  more 
than  once,  and  sought  to  release  Bardolph  from  the 
law's  control.  True,  they  were  not  common  robbers, 
but  men  of  brains  and  wit  and  birth,  who,  over- 
heated by  their  cups  of  sack,  had  gone  out  into  the 
night  to  play  a  jest, — to  enjoy  the  excitement  and 
the  contests  of  skill  which  lay  in  attacking  passing 
travellers.  They  had  but  done  this  twice  or  thrice 
for  sport,  and  all  that  they  had  taken  was  repaid,  yet 
in  the  judgment  of  impartial  law  they  were  the 
equals  of  any  vulgar  thief. 

Harry  would  have  been  the  very  first  to  insist 
upon  obedience  to  the  laws — when  he  shielded  his 
friends  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  pro- 
tecting criminals,  but  now  he  saw  most  clearly  what 
he  had  done;  and  with  clenched  hands  and  fiercely 
bitten  lips  he  cursed  his  own  blindness  and  folly,  and 
prayed  that  he  might  have  the  chance  to  prove  how 
deeply  he  repented  of  his  faults.  But  what  if  this 
blessing  were  denied  him?  What  if  he  had  sinned 
too  deeply  for  forgiveness?  Could  he  pay  the  pen- 
alty with  that  high  courage  which  would  be  the 
token  of  his  royal  blood  ? 


Every  Inch  a  King         247 

He  shuddered  and  glanced  around  the  gloomy 
castle.  Here  rose  that  grim  tower  whose  walls  were 
ten  feet  in  thickness  and  whose  only  entrance  was  a 
trap-door  in  the  floor  of  the  turret.  Into  that  black 
hole  his  ancestor,  Thomas  of  Lancaster,  had  been 
thrown,  to  lie,  bruised  and  half  starved,  on  the  cold 
floor,  and  dragged  out  at  last  only  to  be  taken  to 
execution.  Yet  Thomas  had  met  his  fate  bravely,  as 
became  the  grandson  of  a  king.  Across  the  court- 
yard lay  the  chamber  where  the  poor,  weak  King 
Richard  had  been  confined,  and  where,  only  twelve 
years  before,  he  had  suffered  a  mysterious  death.  Yet 
Richard,  in  the  hours  of  his  downfall,  had  borne 
himself  with  better  spirit  than  when  he  sat  upon  the 
throne,  and  many  were  the  tales  whispered  around 
Pontefract  of  his  patience  and  submissive  dignity. 

Ah,  but  these  princes  had  lived  for  many  years, 
had  shared  in  the  great  events  of  their  times,  and 
their  wearied  spirits  must  at  last  have  welcomed 
death.  But  he  was  young,  scarce  a  man  in  years, 
longing  to  work,  to  fight,  to  bring  glory  to  his  be- 
loved country.  To  wait  in  chains  and  then  to  die 
were  easy;  but  such  was  not  his  fate, — had  it  been 
so  he  would  not  have  been  released  from  King's 
Bench  Prison.  Nay,  his  future  was  to  be  far  more 
wretched.  Exile  was  his  bitter  punishment.  The 
King,  no  doubt,  believed  it  merciful — still  loving  his 
wayward  son,  he  would  not  take  his  life,  nor  force 
him  to  exist  within  a  dungeon,  but  would  banish 
him  from  England,  granting  him  liberty  to  roam  at 


248         Every  Inch  a  King 

will  in  foreign  lands.  Ay,  he  would  be  free — free 
to  wander  restlessly  from  court  to  court,  received  at 
each  with  careless  courtesy,  or  even  with  harsh 
words  and  scornful  looks ;  free  to  watch  his  country 
from  afar,  knowing  himself  an  outcast,  despised  of 
men  or  utterly  forgotten,  forbidden  to  share  in  Eng- 
land's government,  denied  even  the  right  to  draw 
his  sword  in  her  defence ;  or  else  free  to  know  that 
his  own  brothers  feared  him,  that  they  doubted  his 
submission  to  the  King  whom  Parliament  had  de- 
creed should  rule;  free  to  be  the  centre  of  foreign 
plots  to  place  him  on  the  throne;  free  to  struggle 
with  temptation  and  overcome  it,  and  then  to  have 
his  tempters  laugh  at  him,  and,  as  his  uncle  Win- 
chester had  done,  force  him  to  seem  a  traitor  against 
his  will;  free  to  see  his  countrymen  lie  dead,  slain 
in  the  effort  to  keep  him  from  the  throne ;  free  to  see 
England  torn  by  civil  strife,  his  very  brothers  war- 
ring against  each  other  as  the  Third  Henry's  sons 
had  fought  so  long  ago ;  free  to  stand  helpless,  buf- 
feted by  fate,  powerless  to  prevent  this  misery  and 
yet  proclaimed  by  all  the  author  of  it —  O  God! 
was  it  not  his  duty  to  choose  eternal  death  and  fall 
by  his  own  hand  rather  than  live  to  bring  calamity 
to  his  beloved  people? 

In  agony  of  soul  the  Prince  sank  upon  his  knees 
and  raised  his  eyes  to  the  great  vault  above,  in  which 
not  even  a  star  shone  to  give  him  comfort.  "Help 
me,  merciful  Father,"  he  implored,  "teach  me  what 
is  thy  will  concerning  me."  And  as  he  prayed,  in 


Every  Inch  a  King         249 

the  soft  twilight  he  seemed  to  see  a  face  looking 
upon  him  with  pity  and  deep  love — a  woman's  face, 
vague  and  undefined,  like  the  faint  memory  of  child- 
hood, but  yet  so  sweet,  so  beautiful,  that  he  gave  a 
cry  of  remembrance  and  joy.  "Mother !  Hast  thou 
come  to  soothe  thy  troubled  son?" 

Mary  de  Bohun  had  died  when  her  eldest  son  was 
but  six  years  of  age,  yet  from  her  he  had  received 
the  only  love  his  childhood  knew,  and  it  seemed 
entirely  natural  that  she  should  appear  to  comfort 
him  in  this  his  darkest  hour.  Her  brown  eyes,  ever 
filled  with  tenderest  affection,  gleamed  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  her  faint  voice  sounded  in  his  ears : — 
"Courage,  my  son ;  go  to  thy  father,  for  he  is  dying 
and  longs  for  thee."  "He  will  not  receive  me," 
Harry  answered,  but  the  gentle  voice  repeated, — 
"Go,  go,  before  it  is  too  late!"  The  Prince  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  stepped  quickly  forward,  but  the 
vision  faded  from  before  his  eyes.  He  raised  his 
voice  and  called  "Mother,  mother!"  Out  of  the 
darkness  came  a  soldier's  figure,  and  a  deep  voice 
asked,  "Did  you  call,  my  lord?"  Harry  shook  his 
head  impatiently,  but  the  man  continued, — "The 
mist  is  heavy  and  it  groweth  cold.  Your  Grace  hath 
been  asleep."  "Asleep?"  he  asked,  astonished.  "Ay, 
my  lord,  I  passed  you  an  instant  since  and  you  were 
sleeping.  Will  your  Grace  go  in  ?" 

The  Prince  entered  the  round  tower  which  he  had 
chosen  for  his  abiding  place,  and  in  much  amaze- 
ment went  to  his  chamber.  Was  it  indeed  a  dream, 


250         Every  Inch  a  King 

or  had  she  actually  appeared  before  him  and  given 
him  this  command?  Had  he  not  seen  her  eyes  and 
heard  her  voice,  ay,  and  spoken  to  her  with  his  own 
lips  ?  But  the  soldier  declared  that  he  had  seen  him 
sleeping.  What  matter?  Dream  or  vision,  he 
would  obey  her  wish, — he  would  once  more  beg  to 
see  his  father,  and  if  the  King  still  doubted  his  loy- 
alty, then  he  would  pray  to  suffer  a  traitor's  death 
rather  than  to  live  and  cause  him  grief  and  shame. 

Early  the  next  morning  Harry  arose,  and  sum- 
moning his  servants  together  informed  them  that  he 
would  start  within  the  hour  for  London.  "I  go  to 
seek  an  audience  of  my  father,  and  if  I  fail  I  will  re- 
turn with  speed.  Therefore,  abide  ye  here  to  wait 
my  pleasure.  Only  a  score  of  soldiers  shall  go  with 
me,  for  I  must  travel  with  the  utmost  speed."  The 
selection  of  his  companions  was  made  with  diffi- 
culty, since  each  one  begged  to  be  of  the  number; 
but  presently  the  little  company  was  prepared.  As 
Harry  mounted,  he  glanced  over  the  great  castle  and 
asked  abruptly, — "What  name  belongeth  unto  the 
tower  wherein  I  slept  ?" 

One  of  the  officers  answered,  "My  lord,  until  now 
that  tower  alone  hath  been  without  a  name.  We 
will  call  it  the  Tower  of  the  Prince  of  Wales." 

Harry  laughed  grimly, — "Nay,  I  would  not  have 
it  bear  a  name  so  empty, — for  I  am  stripped  of 
honors  and  of  power,  and  soon,  methinks,  must 
even  give  up  the  title.  Call  it,  rather,  by  the  name 
of  that  man  because  of  whom  I  came  here  in  dis- 


Every  Inch  a  King         251 

grace, — that  man  before  whom  I  did  bow  my  knee 
in  token  of  obedience.  From  henceforth  let  it  be 
known  as  'Gascoigne's  Tower.' '  And,  smiling  at 
the  irony  of  fate,  Harry  rode  forth  and  turned  his 
face  toward  London. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"If  it  were  now  to  die, 
It  were  to  be  most  happy ;  for  I  fear 
My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute, 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate." 

OTHELLO. 

ELTHAM  PALACE,  situated  only  nine  miles  south 
of  London,  was  associated  with  many  of  the  King's 
happiest  days.  Here  he  had  wedded  Joan  of  Na- 
varre in  1402,  and  here  he  had  kept  the  Christmas 
season  three  years  before  with  feasting  and  much 
merriment.  The  beautiful  old  palace,  one  of  the 
chief  royal  residences  since  Henry  the  Third's  time, 
two  centuries  before,  had  witnessed  many  a  festive 
scene,  and  many  a  gallant  party  of  noblemen  and 
ladies  had  ridden  forth  from  its  gray  walls  to  hunt 
the  deer  with  which  its  three  great  parks  were  rilled. 
The  King  had  come  here  frequently  with  his  court, 
and  now  that  he  believed  his  death  was  fast  ap- 
proaching he  had  journeyed  thither  to  spend  the 
Yuletide. 

He  was  unable  to  sit  his  horse,  and  had  been  com- 
pelled to  make  the  short  journey  in  his  royal  car- 
riage, which  in  former  days  he  had  scorned  as  too 
luxurious  for  a  warrior.  This  vehicle  was  drawn 
by  four  handsome  horses  harnessed  in  a  row,  with 
the  postilion  mounted  on  one  of  them,  armed  with 


Every  Inch  a  King         253 

a  short-handled  whip  of  many  thongs.  The  carriage 
itself  had  four  wheels,  richly  carved,  and  their 
spokes  expanded  near  the  hoops  into  ribs  forming 
pointed  arches;  solid  beams,  painted  or  gilded 
elaborately,  rested  on  the  axles,  and  above  this 
framework  rose  an  archway  rounded  like  a  tunnel, 
the  sides  of  which  were  pierced  by  square  windows 
shaded  by  silken  curtains.  The  interior  was  hung 
with  the  richest  tapestries,  and  the  seats,  on  which 
the  King  reclined,  half  sitting  and  half  lying,  were 
furnished  with  embroidered  cushions  and  soft  robes. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this  unwonted  luxury,  the 
wretched  roads,  the  constant  groaning  of  the  axles, 
the  violence  with  which  the  carriage  advanced  and 
stopped,  descended  into  the  hollows  and  bounded 
at  the  ditches,  made  the  short  drive  a  constant  mar- 
tyrdom, and  even  his  Queen's  tender  ministrations 
could  not  bring  pleasure  into  the  sick  man's  face. 

Upon  his  safe  arrival  at  Eltham,  however,  he 
made  it  evident  that  he  would  not  brook  being 
treated  as  an  invalid.  He  gave  commands  that  the 
feasts  were  to  be  as  elaborate  and  the  entertainments 
as  merry  as  upon  any  former  year,  and  he  himself 
was  carried  to  his  place  upon  the  dais  of  the  great 
banqueting  hall  and  presided  over  the  board  with 
his  accustomed  dignity.  There  were  gathered  the 
greatest  nobles  in  the  land ;  and  men  in  rich  doublets, 
and  beautiful  women  in  magnificent  gowns,  made 
the  court  almost  equal  in  brilliancy  to  that  which 
had  assembled  here  to  witness  the  King's  marriage. 


254         Every  Inch  a  King 

The  influence  of  the  holy  season  of  Christmas  and 
the  consciousness  of  his  near-approaching  end,  had 
caused  Henry,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of 
Arundel,  Scrope,  and  his  Queen,  to  send  gracious 
messages  to  his  brother,  Bishop  Winchester 
(Thomas  Beaufort,  already  pardoned,  was  fighting 
in  France),  and  also  to  Lord  Suffolk  and  his  son,  in 
response  to  which  the  noblemen,  accompanied  by 
their  ladies,  had  promptly  arrived  at  Eltham,  to  be 
welcomed  cordially  by  the  monarch,  and  kindly  by 
those  of  the  court  who  either  did  not  hate  them  or 
had  the  sense  to  conceal  their  feelings.  Because  of 
the  archbishop's  bitterness,  his  nephew,  the  Earl  of 
Arundel,  was  alone  refused  this  general  pardon. 

"My  lords,"  Henry  had  said  in  welcoming  these 
exiles  to  the  court,  "this  is  the  season  of  good  will 
to  men,  and  it  behooves  us  to  forgive  whatever  evil 
ye  intended  'gainst  us,  and  to  receive  you  once  again 
as  loyal  subjects  ready  to  serve  our  person.  There- 
fore, we  bid  ye  welcome  to  our  court."  Boling- 
broke's  trust  was  not  disappointed;  for  one  by  one 
they  bowed  their  knee  and  declared  their  allegiance 
to  their  King  and  vowed  their  readiness  to  die  for 
him.  Therefore,  in  spite  of  his  ill  health,  the  Christ- 
mas was  one  of  the  happiest  Henry  had  ever  spent. 
One  thing  alone  marred  his  pleasure; — although 
John  of  Lancaster  gravely  occupied  his  place,  and 
Humphrey  of  Gloucester,  the  youngest  of  the  royal 
princes,  joined  with  full  zest  in  all  the  merriment, 
the  King  mourned  for  his  elder  sons.  The  Prin- 


Every  Inch  a  King         255 

cess  Margaret  spoke  often  of  her  husband, — "fight- 
ing in  France,  and  denied  our  merry  pleasures,"  but 
her  grief  at  Thomas's  absence  did  not  prevent  her 
from  smiling  mos^.  bewitchingly  upon  the  lords  who 
clustered  about  her.  Once  the  monarch  had  said  to 
his  Queen, — "I  would  that  Harry  were  present  at 
this  feast;"  but  Joan  had  answered  angrily, — "Me- 
thinks  thou  hast  a-plenty  of  traitors  at  thy  board 
without  desiring  the  leader  of  them  all,"  and  Bol- 
ingbroke  sighed  and  did  not  refer  to  him  again. 

But  this  silence  did  not  prevent  him  from  many 
earnest  thoughts.  Gloomily,  he  relived  the  years  once 
more  and  wondered  if  he  had  fulfilled  the  duties  of 
a  father  toward  his  first-born  son.  In  Harry's  child- 
hood they  had  been  separated,  Bolingbroke  being 
an  exile  from  the  country,  while  the  boy  occupied  'a 
position  of  partial  confinement  at  Richard's  court. 
Upon  Henry's  usurpation  of  the  throne,  the  Prince 
had  for  a  time  remained  in  London,  maintaining 
a  separate  household ;  but  after  the  battle  of  Shrews- 
bury, in  which,  although  only  sixteen,  he  played  so 
gallant  a  part,  receiving  there  his  first  severe  wound, 
yet  refusing  to  leave  the  battle-field  until  victory  was 
assured,  Harry  went  to  Wales  and  the  King  saw 
little  of  him  until  his  return  from  the  Welsh  cam- 
paigns and  a  successful  expedition  against  Scotland, 
to  reside  in  London.  And  during  the  five  years  that 
had  elapsed  since  then,  what  had  been  the  relation- 
ship between  them?  The  Prince's  immediate  and 
universal  popularity  had  excited  the  King's  jeal- 


256         Every  Inch  a  King 

ousy ;  his  eagerness  to  take  a  prominent  place  in  the 
council,  his  keen  interest  in  all  state  affairs,  and  his 
amazing  knowledge  and  wisdom,  as  well  as  the  ear- 
nestness with  which  he  performed  all  his  duties, 
made  the  monarch  fear  his  active  spirit  and  readily 
listen  to  evil  tales  against  him.  And  now  he 
doubted  those  tales,  even  such  as  seemed  to  have 
been  proven;  he  told  himself  that  his  jealousy  was 
unfounded,  and  he  remembered  bitterly  that  while 
many  of  Harry's  enemies  had  made  the  court  most 
unpleasant  for  him,  he  himself,  his  father,  had  re- 
pulsed every  effort  of  the  Prince  for  closer  friend- 
ship; had  refused  to  listen  to  his  protests  and  ex- 
planations, and  finally  had  dismissed  him  from  the 
court  because  Lord  Scrope  had  charged  him  with 
high  treason.  And,  when  it  was  all  too  late,  and  the 
slanders  upon  the  Prince's  name  had  driven  him  far 
from  London,  the  dying  father  repented  of  his  injus- 
tice and  longed  passionately  for  his  son's  presence, 
forgiveness  and  tender  love.  Was  it  God's  purpose 
to  deny  him  this,  in  punishment  for  his  many  griev- 
ous sins? 

No,  the  merciful  Father  was  gentle  with  him,  for 
upon  the  first  day  of  January,  while  the  King  sat 
with  his  courtiers  around  a  blazing  fire,  in  one  of  the 
great  halls  of  the  palace,  there  came  servants  and 
told  him  hastily  that  the  Prince  of  Wales,  attended 
by  his  guard,  stood  without  and  prayed  to  be  ad- 
mitted. Henry's  weary  face  brightened  at  the 
words,  the  light  came  to  his  eyes  and  a  faint  color 


Every  Inch  a  King         257 

showed  in  his  cheeks,  but  ere  he  could  speak  the 
archbishop  cried  indignantly, — "I  had  not  thought 
he  dared  to  be  so  bold.  'Twere  well  your  Grace 
commanded  he  be  seized  and  taken  to  the  Tower. 
He  doth  presume  upon  the  kindness  you  have  shown 
him,  in  granting  him  his  present  liberty." 

Without  a  look  at  the  angry  and  alarmed  church- 
man, the  sick  man  addressed  the  servants :  "Say  to 
the  Prince  that  we  will  give  him  audience.  Admit 
him  and  conduct  him  to  our  presence  with  all  the 
honors  worthy  of  his  rank." 

"Hold!"  Arundel  thundered.  "Your  Highness 
shall  not  see  him!  Think  you  we  will  permit  a 
traitor  to  approach  your  person?" 

The  King's  eyes  flashed.  "Sirrahs,"  he  demanded 
of  the  hesitating  servants,  "have  ye  not  heard  our 
bidding?  Away  with  speed  and  do  as  we  com- 
mand you."  Then,  turning  toward  his  nobles, — 
"Hark  ye,  my  lords.  I  am  resolved  upon  this  mat- 
ter, and  no  arguments  that  ye  can  use  shall  change 
my  purpose ;  but  every  protest  that  ye  make  against 
my  son  shall  be  remembered  to  your  disadvantage." 

"Our  King  is  mad,"  came  Baron  Scrope's  clear 
voice.  "Draw,  my  lords,  and  defend  him  with  your 
lives." 

"Put  up  your  weapons,"  answered  the  monarch 
sternly,  "and  stand  behind  me.  If  I  am  mad,  yet  I 
am  still  your  King,  and  when  I  do  command,  ye  shall 
obey!  Dost  think  that  one  so  near  to  death  as  I 
would  fear  a  sword-thrust?  I  would  gladly  wel- 


258         Every  Inch  a  King 

come  so  swift  an  ending  of  my  misery.    Will  ye  give 
place,  or  shall  I  call  my  guards  ?" 

Reluctantly  and  sullenly  the  noblemen  about  him 
parted  and  drew  back,  leaving  a  broad,  clear  space 
between  him  and  the  entrance.  As  they  did  so,  the 
doors  were  flung  wide,  and  the  guardsmen  came  to 
a  salute  and  the  servants  bowed  almost  to  the  ground 
as  the  Prince  entered  the  hall.  Motioning  to  his 
attendants  to  remain  upon  the  threshold,  Harry 
Monmouth  advanced  across  the  open  space  alone. 
Months  had  passed  since  the  nobles  had  last  seen  his 
face,  and  every  eye  was  bent  upon  him  curiously. 
They  noticed  first  his  peculiar  costume — a  long, 
dark-blue  robe,  over  which  was  an  academical  gown, 
while  around  his  collar  hung  many  needles  with 
thread,  symbolizing  the  slanders  which  had  attacked 
him.  Then  they  gazed  wonderingly  at  his  face. 
Those  who  lead  a  riotous  life  show  its  traces  in  their 
countenance — their  faces  are  red  and  swollen,  their 
eyes  heavy  and  clouded,  their  manner  reckless,  lack- 
ing all  self-control.  The  Prince  was  very  pale,  his 
eyes  were  clear  but  downcast,  and  if  the  thought  of 
all  the  evil  they  believed  against  him  made  his  heart 
burn  with  shame  and  sorrow,  he  yet  bore  himself 
with  a  quiet  dignity  which  astonished  them.  Never 
had  he  looked  more  princely  than  when,  bowing  low 
before  the  King,  he  said  humbly,  in  his  clear,  sweet 
voice, — 'I  thank  your  Highness  for  your  gracious- 
ness  in  granting  me  admittance.  Will  it  please  you 
to  permit  that  I  speak  with  you  alone?" 


Every  Inch  a  King         259 

A  murmur  of  amazement  and  protest  rose  from 
the  noblemen  which  brought  a  slight  color  to 
Harry's  white  cheeks;  but  Bolingbroke  commanded 
silence  by  a  gesture,  then  said  firmly, — "Prince,  it 
shall  be  as  thou  desirest.  Beauchamp,  Neville,  lift 
me  up  and  carry  me  to  yonder  closet." 

The  two  noblemen  advanced  and  raised  him  in 
their  arms ;  then  the  Prince  following,  they  bore  him 
slowly  down  the  long  hall,  past  the  irresolute  cour- 
tiers and  into  the  antechamber,  where  they  laid  him 
upon  a  couch.  Henry  smiled  upon  them.  "I  thank 
ye,  lords.  Now  pray  withdraw  and  leave  us  here 
alone."  The  earls  hesitated  and  glanced  at  the 
Prince.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  theirs,  and  allowed 
each  in  turn  to  search  his  very  soul;  then,  silently, 
and  with  every  token  of  respect  they  departed  from 
the  chamber  and  closed  the  door  behind  them. 

The  King  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  but  ere  he 
could  speak  the  Prince  came  swiftly  forward  and 
passionately  threw  himself  upon  his  knees  beside  the 
couch.  Drawing  the  jewelled  dagger  at  his  side,  he 
offered  it  to  his  father,  saying  in  a  low,  intense  voice 
which  thrilled  the  single  listener:  "Sire,  I  know 
not  what  I  have  done  to  deserve  such  deep  distrust, 
but  if  thou  dost  believe  I  am  a  traitor,  I  pray  thee 
slay  me  here  with  thine  own  hand  and  end  thy 
doubts  and  fears  and  my  keen  shame !" 

Whatever  Henry  may  have  hoped  or  expected  to 
hear  from  his  son's  lips  he  was  utterly  unprepared 
for  such  an  outburst;  and  in  an  amazement  which 


260         Every  Inch  a  King 

bereft  him  of  all  speech  he  unconsciously  accepted 
the  extended  dagger,  and  lay,  silent,  gazing  in  be- 
wilderment at  the  kneeling  figure. 

But  the  Prince  did  not  raise  his  eyes  nor  see  his 
father's  emotion,  so  when  the  weapon  was  taken 
from  his  hand  he  supposed  that  the  King  intended  to 
employ  it,  and  promptly  laid  bare  his  breast  and 
leaned  a  little  forward  to  receive  the  fatal  blow.  An 
instant's  breathless  silence  followed,  then  Harry 
spoke  again,  very  quietly :  "Thou  dost  not  strike,  my 
lord  ?  I  have  confessed  myself  and  am  prepared  to 
die.  Better  were  it  a  thousand  times  that  thou 
shouldst  end  my  life  than  believe  that  I  have  one 
thought  toward  thee  that  is  not  loyal,  true  and  hon- 
orable." 

The  dagger  rang  upon  the  floor,  and  with  a  cry  of 
"Harry !"  the  King  held  out  his  arms.  The  Prince 
raised  his  head,  and  in  an  instant  was  folded  in  a 
close  and  tender  embrace.  "My  son,  my  son,  thank 
God  thou  hast  come  back  to  me,"  said  the  father 
brokenly.  "Thou  canst  not  know  how  my  heart  has 
hungered  for  thee  these  many  months.  Methought 
that  I  must  die  without  thee,  Harry,  but  God  has 
granted  me  to  go  in  peace,  knowing  that  thou  art  my 
true  and  loyal  son." 

In  response  to  his  father's  wish  the  Prince  seated 
himself  upon  the  edge  of  the  couch.  "Sire,"  he  said 
gently,  "I  would  so  gladly  have  come  to  thee  before, 
had  I  not  believed  thou  wouldst  refuse  me  entrance. 
When  thou  didst  send  me  in  disgrace  from  court 


Every  Inch  a  King         261 

thou  didst  forbid  that  I  should  try  to  see  thee,  and 
I  then  sent  thee  promise  of  my  obedience." 

"Ay,"  answered  the  King,  sighing,  "then  it  did 
seem  wisdom,  for  men  believed  that  thou  wouldst 
seek  to  kill  me.  Why  didst  thou  so  desire  the  crown, 
my  son?  Couldst  thou  not  wait  the  short  years  of 
my  life?  Thou  hadst  all  the  powers  of  royalty, — 
wert  not  content  I  should  have  the  empty  honor?" 

"My  lord,  I  never  sought  to  take  thy  crown,"  re- 
plied the  Prince  simply.  "Mine  uncle  and  my  friends 
desired  it ;  I  did  refuse  to  listen  to  their  purpose,  and 
they  approached  thee  against  my  strict  command." 

The  King  started  and  gazed  keenly  into  his  son's 
face.  The  Prince  met  his  glance  openly  and  freely, 
and  Bolingbroke,  wearied  and  ill,  made  no  attempt 
to  understand,  nor  reason  out  Scrope's  treachery 
and  the  archbishop's  hatred,  but  simply  believed  and 
rejoiced  in  his  son's  innocence.  "I  trust  thee  abso- 
lutely, Harry,  nor  shall  I  ever  doubt  thee  more,"  he 
said;  and  the  Prince's  pale  face  flushed  with  happi- 
ness as  he  raised  his  father's  hand  to  his  lips.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  Bolingbroke 
asked:  "I  understood  the  reasons  for  thy  absence 
during  the  long  year,  but,  Harry,  after  Gascoigne 
committed  thee  to  prison,  why  didst  thou  not  then 
come  to  me?" 

The  young  man  gazed  at  him  in  amazement.  "I 
never  dreamed  of  coming  then,  my  lord.  If  thou 
didst  punish  me  when  I  was  innocent,  how  could  I 
hope  for  pardon,  being  guilty?  My  lord,"  he  con- 


262          Every  Inch  a  King 

tinued,  with  downcast  eyes  and  reddened  cheeks, 
"never  until  the  justice  rated  me  had  I  the  slightest 
knowledge  of  the  opinions  men  held  about  their 
Prince.  When  council,  court,  and  friends  were  lost 
to  me,  I  sought  forgetfulness  in  wine  and  frolic.  I 
now  perceive  that  I  have  done  great  wrong,  and  I 
acknowledge,  sire,  that  thou  wert  wise  when  thou 
didst  warn  me  against  these  men  whom  I  have  made 
my  friends  and  intimates.  That  life  is  ended,  good 
my  lord,  forever.  I  never  more  shall  greet  Falstaff 
or  Poins,  nor  shall  I  dine  or  drink  in  London  tav- 
erns. Whatever  be  thy  will  concerning  me,  I  vow 
to  thee  that  from  henceforth  I'll  live  a  life  of  purity 
and  honor." 

The  last  cloud  was  lifted  from  the  King's  brow  by 
these  words  and  his  eyes  were  filled  with  happy  tears. 
He  understood  for  the  first  time  the  causes  that  had 
driven  the  Prince  to  such  a  course;  and  he  realized 
how  great  and  noble  a  sacrifice  to  duty  was  con- 
tained in  this  quiet  abandonment  of  the  gay,  free, 
merry  life  which  was  so  suited  to  the  Prince's  happy 
nature — a  life  that  he  had  lived  for  years,  but  that 
only  during  one  brief  month  had  he  lived  wrongly 
and  turned  pleasure  into  sin;  yet  now,  to  guard 
himself  from  lying  tongues,  he  would  close  every 
door  to  evil.  The  bitter  thought  came  to  the  King 
that  if  he  had  only  trusted  and  loved  his  son,  all  this 
sorrow  and  misjudgment  would  have  been  avoided ; 
yet  when  he  tried  falteringly  to  ask  pardon  for  his 
jealousy  and  injustice,  the  Prince  knelt  once  more 


Every  Inch  a  King         263 

beside  him  and  earnestly  replied:  "My  liege,  thou 
wrongest  thyself.  Thou  hast  done  naught  without 
weighty  cause.  Never  have  I  blamed  thee,  sire,  for 
mine  own  faults  are  many,  and  I  have  not  deserved 
either  thy  love  or  trust.  "Pis  I  who  ask  forgiveness 
of  my  lord." 

"Thou  hast  it,  Harry,  from  my  very  heart,"  the 
King  responded;  and  then  he  added  wistfully, — 
"Canst  thou  love  me,  Harry?" 

A  smile  so  sweet,  so  tender,  came  to  the  Prince's 
lips,  that  it  needed  not  his  words  to  fill  the  dying 
monarch's  cup  to  overflowing, — "I  do  love  thee,  my 
gracious  liege  and  father." 

"Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  again,  Harry,"  the  King 
pleaded ;  and  his  son  answered  gently, — "Never,  my 
lord,  if  thou  wilt  let  me  stay."  And  when,  a  half 
hour  later,  Westmoreland  entered  the  chamber,  he 
found  the  Prince  still  beside  the  couch,  on  which  the 
monarch  lay,  sleeping  like  a  child  and  smiling  in  his 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"To  die,— to  sleep, 

No  more ;  and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heartache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to, — 'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished." 

HAMLET. 

"HAST  heard  the  news,  my  lord  chief  justice? 
Thou  must  hereafter  teach  thy  tongue  to  speak  with 
graciousness  when  thou  dost  mention  our  most 
noble  Prince."  Archbishop  Arundel's  strong  face 
was  drawn  into  a  sneer  and  his  voice  gave  expres- 
sion to  his  scorn. 

The  King  had  been  brought  back  to  Westminster, 
and  Gascoigne,  prevented  by  ill  health  from  joining 
in  the  Christmas  festivities,  had  promptly  presented 
himself  at  the  court  upon  his  arrival  in  London. 
Now  he  stood,  calm  and  dignified,  facing  the  arch- 
bishop, and  concealing  beneath  an  impassive  coun- 
tenance the  anxious  thoughts  which  filled  his  busy 
mind. 

"So  rumor  speaketh  truth?"  he  asked  carelessly. 
"I  heard  a  fortnight  since  that  the  King  had  received 
his  son,  but  methought  that  it  was  idle  gossip." 

"Nay,  'tis  too  true,  and  I  must  warn  thee,  Gas- 
coigne, that  Henry  has  gone  well-nigh  daft  about 
him.  He  will  not  permit  Prince  Harry  to  leave  his 


Every  Inch  a  King         265 

side,  nor  will  he  listen  to  a  word  of  protest.  Be 
wise,  my  lord,  and  give  him  gentle  words." 

Sir  William  permitted  a  slight  smile  to  show  upon 
his  lips.  "How  is't  with  thee,  lord  bishop?"  he 
asked  coolly.  "Hast  thou  learned  to  conceal  thy 
feelings  under  honeyed  phrase?" 

Arundel  drew  himself  up  somewhat  haughtily. 
"For  me,  concealment  is  unnecessary.  The  King 
doth  know  my  feelings  in  the  matter,  nor  has  he 
judged  me  guilty  of  injustice.  I  have  opposed 
Prince  Harry's  policy,  but  never  have  I  railed 
against  his  person !" 

Gascoigne  raised  his  eyebrows,  "No,  my  lord? 
And  dost  thou  now  commend  him  for  his  good- 
ness?" 

Arundel  flushed,  then  answered  with  sudden 
frankness:  "To  speak  the  truth,  my  lord,  it  is  too 
late.  Harry  doth  know  my  hatred,  and  returns  it, 
nor  would  a  few  fair  words  alter  my  fate.  He  is 
all-powerful  now,  and  it  doth  seem  that  save  by  his 
death  alone  could  we  prevent  his  claiming  and  ob- 
taining the  mighty  crown!  And  when  he  is  the 
King,  then  God  have  mercy  upon  our  England !" 

Lord  Beauchamp,  Earl  of  Warwick,  joined  the 
two,  asking  in  surprise, — "My  lord  chief  justice, 
wherefore  art  thou  here?  This  is  no  place  for  one  of 
thy  opinions." 

Gascoigne  turned  toward  him  quickly.  "Will  not 
the  King  receive  me,  noble  earl  ?" 

Warwick  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  answered 


266         Every  Inch  a  King 

bitterly, — "Mayhap  he  will  admit  thee  to  his  cham- 
ber, but  thou  needest  have  no  hope  of  speech  with 
him." 

"And  wherefore  not,  my  lord?"  questioned  Sir 
William. 

"Because  his  son  doth  never  leave  his  side.  What 
canst  thou  say  before  Prince  Harry's  face  ?" 

Gascoigne  stared  at  the  earl's  flushed  cheeks  and 
angry  brow  in  absolute  amazement.  "My  Lord  of 
Warwick,"  he  exclaimed,  "methought  that  thou  at 
least  didst  love  the  Prince." 

Beauchamp  bit  his  lip.  "I  love  the  King,"  he 
answered  fiercely,  "and  when  his  Grace  lies  dying  it 
were  fit  that  I  attended  on  him.  But  he  doth  prefer 
the  presence  of  his  traitorous,  unnatural  son.  God 
pity  us  when  he  is  crowned  our  King!" 

He  strode  away,  leaving  the  justice  gazing  after 
him  in  sorrow  and  bewilderment.  "Oh,  jealousy, 
how  mighty  is  thy  power!"  he  murmured,  but  the 
archbishop,  smiling,  answered  suavely,  "Thou  seest 
Harry  Monmouth  has  few  friends.  Methinks  not 
one  of  us  will  escape  his  vengeance,  but  'tis  as  well 
that  we  should  fall  together." 

Arundel  was  right, — the  Prince  had  indeed  few 
friends  at  the  court.  His  enemies  had  felt  confident 
in  their  victory — they  had  driven  him  from  council, 
blackened  his  fair  name  and  almost  gained  the 
King's  consent  to  have  Thomas  proclaimed  the  heir. 
Could  they  prevent  Harry's  reinstatement  in  the 
King's  favor,  upon  the  monarch's  death  they  could 


Every  Inch  a  King         267 

proclaim  the  younger  prince  as  King.  Victory  was 
almost  in  their  grasp,  when,  on  a  sudden,  Harry 
Monmouth  had  returned,  was  immediately  received 
and  pardoned,  and  now  he  alone  seemed  to  possess 
the  confidence  of  the  King.  Alarmed  and  dismayed, 
his  enemies,  at  the  head  of  whom  was  the  bold  and 
revengeful  Queen,  sought  by  every  means  to  drive 
him  from  the  court.  Joan,  indeed,  did  not  scruple 
to  charge  the  Prince  before  his  face  with  every  vil- 
lainy she  could  invent,  and  she  even  besought  the 
King  upon  her  knees  to  grant  her  Harry's  death,  but 
her  words  fell  on  closed  ears.  While  the  Prince 
stood,  fairly  quivering  with  fury,  the  sick  man's 
glance  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  chamber,  pass- 
ing her  by  without  a  sign,  to  rest  at  last  in  peace 
upon  his  son's  white  face.  Then  he  softly  mur- 
mured, "Harry,"  and  in  an  instant  the  anger  died 
from  the  young  man's  eyes,  and  a  deep,  tender  love 
took  its  place  as  he  knelt  and  answered  gently, — "I 
am  here,  my  liege."  And  while  the  baffled  Queen, 
with  a  glance  of  undying  hatred,  hurried  from  the 
chamber,  the  King  took  his  hand  within  his  own, 
and  closed  his  eyes,  content.  Many,  many  times  was 
this  scene  enacted  during  those  sad  weeks,  and  each 
encounter  left  the  Prince  more  pale  and  his  heart 
filled  with  grief  and  sadness. 

Few,  indeed,  dared  openly  to  speak  against  him, 
and  his  constant  presence,  day  and  night,  beside  his 
father  prevented  many  bitter  attacks  upon  him ;  but 
in  every  face  he  saw  distrust,  in  every  tone  heard 


268         Every  Inch  a  King 

scorn.  The  King  was  too  ill  to  attempt  argument 
or  defence  of  him,  and  those  who  loved  him  best  had 
no  knowledge  that  he  had  declared  his  innocence,  far 
less  that  he  had  vowed  to  abandon  his  unworthy 
pastimes  and  never  more  to  consort  with  those 
merry  Londoners  who  had  been  his  misleaders. 

It  soon  became  apparent  that  his  constant  pres- 
ence beside  his  father  was  exciting  jealousy  in  the 
hearts  of  those  who  should  have  been  his  friends. 
Warwick,  Westmoreland,  and  others  who  had  sought 
to  defend  him  from  injustice,  looked  now  upon  him 
with  suspicious  eyes,  and,  being  ignorant  of  his  refor- 
mation, they  could  ill  brook  his  constant  attendance 
upon  the  monarch.  Moreover,  there  were  many  who 
thought  the  Prince  took  an  unjust  advantage  of  the 
King's  illness  to  regain  his  rightful  place,  not  realiz- 
ing that  it  was  the  King's  request  that  kept  him  at 
his  side.  Although  Henry  spent  many  hours  lying 
apparently  oblivious  to  his  surroundings,  should  the 
Prince  even  so  much  as  rise  to  cross  the  room,  the 
sick  man  would  turn  restlessly  and  call,  "Harry," 
nor  would  he  be  content  until  his  son  was  once  more 
sitting  by  his  side.  Therefore,  upon  this  wintry 
afternoon,  when  Gascoigne  presented  himself  at  the 
royal  chamber,  he  found  the  two  together ;  the  King, 
apparently  brighter  and  stronger  than  for  several 
days,  half-sitting  and  half-lying  among  his  cushions, 
while  the  Prince,  dressed  in  a  simple  costume  of  dark 
velvet,  was  seated  upon  a  bench  beside  him,  in  his 
hand  a  poem  by  the  poet  Lydgate.  Henry  was  gaz- 


Every  Inch  a  King         269 

ing  affectionately  upon  that  face  which  had  grown 
so  dear  to  him,  when  he  noticed  that  his  son 
glanced  up,  started,  and  changed  color.  Surprised, 
the  monarch  turned  his  head  and  beheld  the  justice 
advancing  toward  them.  The  Prince  rose  and  asked 
hastily,  "Will  your  Highness  grant  me  leave?  I  will 
return  erelong."  But  Henry  put  out  his  hand. 
"Nay,  Harry,  I  prithee  leave  me  not,"  he  answered, 
and  his  son  could  but  obey.  Gascoigne  drew  near 
and  bowed  low  before  the  invalid.  "I  am  rejoiced 
that  your  Highness  hath  reached  London  without 
mishap,"  he  said  heartily. 

Henry  extended  his  hand.  "Thou  art  truly  kind 
to  come  to  welcome  me,"  he  answered  cordially. 
"We  missed  thee,  Sir  William,  at  our  Yuletide 
feast.  I  trust  thy  health  is  in  better  state?" 

"It  is,  sire,"  Gascoigne  replied,  smiling.  "I  am 
growing  old,  my  liege,  and  worn  with  care,  yet 
death  has  touched  me  not.  I  hope  your  Highness's 
strength  hath  increased  since  you  left  us.  The  air 
of  Eltham  giveth  life  and  health." 

"Methinks  I  am  more  strong,"  said  Henry,  while 
his  eyes  rested  upon  the  Prince's  face  with  a  smile 
of  entire  contentment.  "This  boy  beside  me  doth 
make  me  well  with  joy.  Thou  seest  that  I  have  my 
son  once  more." 

Gascoigne  glanced  swiftly  at  the  young  man, — 
they  had  not  met  since  the  scene  in  the  court  room. 
Harry  had  remained  standing  near  the  couch,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  his  father,  his  lips  compressed.  Now 


270         Every  Inch  a  King 

he  raised  his  head  and  drew  himself  up  haughtily. 
He  was  the  Prince, — should  he  receive  no  recogni- 
tion at  the  hands  of  this  bold  man  ?  A  slight,  half- 
scornful  smile  came  to  the  justice's  face  for  a  brief 
instant,  then  ignoring  his  future  King  entirely,  he 
replied,  "I  rejoice  that  your  Highness  improveth 
day  by  day." 

Harry  flushed.  Must  he  still  humble  himself  be- 
fore this  powerful  judge?  Should  not  Gascoigne 
ask  for  his  pardon?  The  King,  watching  closely, 
had  seen  Sir  William's  smile,  and,  reading  its  mean- 
ing, exclaimed  imperatively, — "My  lord,  thou  hast 
not  greeted  the  Prince  of  Wales." 

Gascoigne  was  annoyed,  but  with  entire  calmness 
he  promptly  turned  and  bowed,  saying,  "My  lord 
Prince,  I  give  you  greeting." 

Harry's  eyes  fell  before  the  justice's  gaze,  and  too 
greatly  embarrassed  to  reply,  he  merely  bent  his 
head.  But  who  will  blame  Gascoigne  for  saying  in 
his  heart,  "When  my  good  friend,  the  King,  doth 
live  no  more,  I  am  assured  my  life  will  quickly  end. 
Prince  Harry  hath  no  love  to  waste  upon  me." 

Indeed,  such  was  the  belief  of  various  members  of 
the  court.  Many  feared  that  the  Prince  would  take 
personal  vengeance  upon  them,  while  others  ex- 
pected to  share  in  the  general  dismissal  which  was 
prophesied.  In  the  heart  of  every  nobleman  there 
was  anxiety, — would  not  the  chief  places  of  the  land 
be  bestowed  upon  Falstaff  and  his  friends?  And 
how  could  proud  England  endure  the  ridicule  and 


Every  Inch  a  King         271 

taunts  of  other  nations  ?  Law  and  order,  peace  and 
justice,  dignity  and  power,  would  end  with  Boling- 
broke's  death,  and  in  their  place  would  reign  vanity 
and  idleness  and  foolish  mirth.  And  what  escape 
was  possible  from  this  misery  ?  Thomas  of  Clarence 
still  lingered  in  France,  and  many  of  his  strongest 
adherents  were  with  him.  Neither  John  nor  Hum- 
phrey would  be  acceptable  to  the  nation.  Unless 
Thomas  returned,  there  was  no  choice  but  to  pro- 
claim Harry  as  King.  Urgent  messages  were  sent 
to  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  and  the  physicians  used 
their  utmost  endeavors  to  keep  the  monarch  alive 
until  his  arrival,  and,  indeed,  Henry  seemed  to  rally 
and  grow  stronger;  but  on  the  twentieth  of  March, 
while  praying  before  the  shrine  of  St.  Edward  in 
the  abbey,  he  had  a  final  attack  of  his  disease,  and 
was  removed  to  the  Jerusalem  Chamber  in  the  ab- 
bot's house.  There  the  noblemen  gathered,  in  sor- 
row and  dismay,  the  physicians  came  hastily  to  his 
side,  and  the  priests  approached  to  give  him  spiritual 
succor,  but  Bolingbroke  waved  them  back.  "Nay, 
trouble  me  not,  I  have  confessed  my  sins  and  am  at 
peace  with  God  and  man.  And  as  for  you,  your 
medicines  are  useless.  This  is  the  end  from  which 
ye  cannot  save  me.  Where  are  my  sons,  Prince  John 
and  Humphrey?" 

They  came  forward,  weeping,  and  Henry  feebly 
placed  his  hand  upon  their  heads  and  faintly  blessed 
them.  Then  his  eyes  passed  from  face  to  face,  as  if 


272          Every  Inch  a  King 

to  bestow  upon  each  mighty  lord  his  farewell  greet- 
ing. In  answer  to  his  gesture  of  command  they  all 
drew  back  a  little  space,  leaving  a  single  kneeling 
figure  beside  the  bed.  Henry  gazed  for  the  last  time 
upon  that  face  which  had  grown  day  by  day  more 
dear  to  him,  and  whispered  regretfully:  "I  would 
have  seen  thy  brother  Thomas  once  again ;  give  him 
my  blessing,  say  I  longed  for  him." 

"I  will,  my  liege,"  the  Prince  promised  in  a  chok- 
ing voice. 

The  King  smiled  faintly  and  pressed  the  hand  he 
held.  "Harry,  thou  art  very  dear  to  me,"  he  mur- 
mured. Then,  a  brief  moment  of  strength  returning, 
he 'continued,  but  in  so  low  a  voice  that  the  Prince 
alone  could  hear  his  words:  "My  son,  remember 
the  promise  thou  hast  made  to  me.  Give  up  all  that 
is  evil;  clothe  thyself  about  with  majesty;  make 
those  about  thee  friends,  not  enemies,  and  live  and 
rule  as  doth  become  thy  blood,  with  dignity  and 
glory,  might  and  power.  Wilt  thou  do  this  ?" 

"I  will,"  answered  the  Prince  firmly. 

"Swear  it,"  pleaded  the  King,  searching  his  son's 
face. 

Harry  swept  the  tears  from  his  eyes  and  raised 
them  to  his  father's.  With  a  mighty  effort  he  calmed 
his  trembling  lips,  and  in  a  quiet,  steady  voice  re- 
plied in  low  tones :  "As  God  lives,  I  swear  that  by 
his  help  I  will  so  order  my  life  and  rule  this  land 
that  England  may  be  glorious  and  free,  and  united 
in  loving  and  honoring  its  King.  And  if  I  fail  to 


Every  Inch  a  King         273 

keep  this  vow,  my  liege,  I  will  by  mine  own  hand 
deliver  my  country  from  its  unworthy  ruler." 

Bolingbroke  smiled  into  the  earnest  eyes  and 
answered :  "Now  can  I  die  contented,  trusting  thee, 
for  I  do  know  that  thou  wilt  keep  thy  vow.  God  be 
with  thee  and  bless  thee,  thou  dearest  of  my  sons." 
He  placed  his  hand  upon  the  bowed  head,  then  let  it 
fall  once  more  by  his  side.  "It  is  over, — Harry, — 
farewell,"  he  murmured  faintly. 

Passionately  the  Prince  kissed  again  and  again 
the  King's  thin,  wasted  hand,  his  figure  quivering 
with  the  sobs  he  sought  in  vain  to  repress. 

A  moment  of  intense  silence,  then  Bolingbroke 
cried  out  in  a  stifled  voice,  "Air!  Raise  me!" 

The  crowd  of  courtiers  pressed  forward,  but 
Harry's  voice  rang  forth  sternly,  "Give  place,  my 
lords !  Away !"  Tenderly  he  raised  the  dying  mon- 
arch in  his  arms.  For  a  minute  Henry  struggled  for 
breath  and  life,  then  with  a  wearied  sigh  his  head 
fell  back  upon  his  son's  breast,  and  the  light  died  out 
from  his  clear  eyes. 

An  instant  Harry  remained  motionless;  soon  he 
laid  the  lifeless  form  among  the  pillows  and  gently 
closed  the  eyelids.  Then  as  Warwick,  the  arch- 
bishop, and  many  others  crowded  around  him  with 
exclamations  of  grief  mingled  with  many  tears,  he 
who  was  now  the  ruler  of  them  all  wrapped  his  cloak 
about  him.  and  swiftly  passing  from  among  them, 
went  to  his  own  chamber,  barred  the  door,  and  was 
alone  at  last  and  free  to  indulge  the  grief  which  al- 
most overpowered  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"Warwick. — Here  come  the  heavy  issue  of  dead  Harry. 
O,  that  the  living  Harry  had  the  temper 
Of  him,  the  worst  of  these  three  gentlemen ! 
How  many  nobles  then  should  hold  their  places, 
That  must  strike  sail  to  spirits  of  vile  sort. 

"Chief  Justice. — O  God,  I  fear  all  will  be  overturned !" 

HENRY  IV. 

WHEN  the  first  shock  of  Bolingbroke's  death  had 
passed  away,  the  nobles  suddenly  realized  that 
Harry  Monmouth  was  the  King  at  last,  and  on  the 
following  morning  they  reluctantly  proclaimed  him 
England's  monarch.  The  intense  enthusiasm  of  the 
common  people  surprised  and  puzzled  them,  and 
they  said  to  one  another  with  bitter  smiles :  "These 
foolish  men  little  dream  of  the  shame  which  they 
must  suffer  presently.  They  will  soon  learn  to  know 
this  man  they  hail,  and  they  will  wish  they'd  bitten 
out  their  tongues  ere  they  had  greeted  him  as  Eng- 
land's ruler." 

But  as  the  day  passed  quietly  and  no  message  or 
command  came  from  that  distant  room,  the  lords 
wondered  and  were  filled  with  strange  uncertainty. 
Where  was  the  Prince  ?  Why  came  he  not  forth  to 
claim  his  exalted  place  and  humble  them  all  before 
him?  But  Harry  kept  his  chamber,  spending  his 
hours  in  mourning  and  prayer,  and  not  until  the 


Every  Inch  a  King         275 

funeral  obsequies  were  performed  did  he  appear  be- 
fore them  to  pay  the  last  honors  to  his  father's  mem- 
ory. 

When  all  was  over,  the  chief  noblemen  gathered 
in  one  of  the  halls  of  Westminster  to  await  the  first 
momentous  interview  with  the  young  monarch. 
"Didst  mark  his  pallor,  and  the  misery  in  his  face?" 
questioned  Earl  Warwick.  "Can  it  be  possible  he 
truly  loved  the  King?" 

"Not  he,"  answered  Archbishop  Arundel,  with 
a  bitter  laugh ;  "  'twas  but  hypocrisy !  Thou  shalt 
find  the  tears  and  black  soon  gone,  and  he  will  dye 
his  robes  in  wine  and  blood." 

"Perchance,  my  lord,"  suggested  the  Bishop  of 
Winchester  coldly,  "we  do  not  all  fear  the  Prince  as 
thou  dost.  I  do  not  look  for  death  or  quick  dis- 
grace." 

"Yet  thou  shalt  find  it,"  answered  Stanley 
sharply,  "methinks  not  one  of  us  will  escape.  Art 
thou  content  to  bow  before  John  Falstaff  ?" 

Winchester  colored,  and  replied  angrily, — "Thou 
dost  misjudge  my  nephew!  Never  will  he  submit 
our  nation  to  such  indignity." 

But  the  chief  justice  answered  with  the  calmness 
of  despair:  "My  Lord  of  Winchester,  it  hath  been 
long  since  thou  wast  of  the  court,  and  thy  belief  in 
Henry's  nobleness  hath  not  been  destroyed  with 
ours.  Yet  I  must  warn  thee,  cherish  no  false  hopes. 
'Tis  not  in  reason  to  expect  a  transformation  in  a 
day,  nor  have  I  ever  heard  that  power  and  might 


276         Every  Inch  a  King 

would  cause  a  man  to  sacrifice  his  passions  and 
awake  in  him  a  nobler  spirit.  Since  as  a  Prince  he 
led  a  reckless  life,  truly  he  will  not  govern  himself 
as  King." 

A  murmur  of  sorrowful  agreement  ran  through 
the  room,  then  Westmoreland,  with  a  glance  of  ad- 
miration at  the  quiet,  grave  face,  said, — "Sir  Will- 
iam, thou  thinkest  of  the  nation,  not  of  thyself. 
Dost  thou  not  fear  what  he  will  do  to  thee?" 

Gascoigne  smiled  quietly.  "Why  should  I  fear, 
most  noble  earl?  I  have  but  done  my  duty,  and 
should  he  decree  my  death,  I  would  receive  it  with 
quiet  mind." 

"I  would  that  I  could  offer  thee  a  little  comfort," 
said  Richard  of  Warwick.  "In  olden  days  I  loved 
our  Prince  most  dearly ;  but  of  late  years  I  have  seen 
little  of  him,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  these  bitter 
charges  I  dare  not  even  think  him  innocent.  I  fear 
me  that  unless  thou  wilt  acknowledge  the  virtues  of 
his  companions,  there  is  but  little  hope  for  thee." 

"And  that, my  lord,  is  quite  impossible!"  answered 
the  justice  proudly. 

"Impossible,  Sir  William?"  asked  a  clear  voice 
behind  him.  The  nobles  started,  and  turned  in  great 
confusion.  The  young  King  had  entered  the  room 
quietly,  acknowledged  in  silence  the  deep  bows  of 
many  of  his  subjects,  and  rapidly  approached  the 
central  group,  who,  engrossed  in  conversation,  were 
entirely  unaware  of  his  presence.  And  now  he  stood 
before  them  still  clad  in  his  sombre  robes,  his  pale 


Every  Inch  a  King         277 

face  speaking  eloquently  of  weary  days  and  sleepless 
nights,  yet  with  a  noble  dignity  in  his  manner  which 
made  these  astonished  men  suddenly  conscious  of 
his  new  position,  and  caused  them  to  greet  him  with 
every  possible  mark  of  reverence.  He  received  their 
embarrassed  salutations  with  calm  graciousness, 
then  looking  Gascoigne  in  the  eyes,  asked  again: 
"Dost  thou  mean,  lord  justice,  that  thou  wilt  not  at 
my  request  commend  my  friends  ?" 

"Not  when  they  have  done  wrong,  my  liege," 
answered  Sir  William,  respectfully  but  firmly. 

Henry  continued  very  quietly:  "And  myself,  my 
lord?  Wilt  thou  say  no  word  in  praise  of  thy  new 
King?" 

"Gladly  will  I  commend  your  Highness  when, you 
shall  prove  yourself  worthy  of  my  praise,"  was  the 
bold  answer. 

A  murmur  of  amazement  and  alarm  rose  from  the 
noblemen,  but  Henry  raised  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Thou  hast  dealt  severely  with  me,  Gascoigne,"  he 
said  sternly.  "Thou  didst  charge  thy  Prince,  in  open 
court,  with  offences  of  which  he  was  entirely  inno- 
cent. Rumor  alone  told  thee  of  my  evil  living,  my 
delight  in  robbery,  my  protection  of  criminals! 
Thou  hadst  no  knowledge  whether  these  things  were 
true.  Because  I  came  asking  for  the  pardon  of  a 
friend,  was  it  well  to  charge  me  with  such  false- 
hoods?" 

"Were  they  falsehoods,  my  lord?"  asked  Gas- 
coigne proudly.  "Was  not  this  friend,  whose  par- 


278         Every  Inch  a  King 

don  you  did  demand,  a  self-confessed  criminal? 
Was  not  your  friendship  a  proof  of  evil  living,  and 
did  you  not  seek  to  protect  him  from  the  law?" 

The  young  King  flushed,  and  cried  out  sharply — 
"Gascoigne,  I  warn  thee,  remember  I  am  King,  and 
hold  thy  future  in  the  hollow  of  mine  hand !  Thou 
didst  charge  me  with  unproven  faults,  used  me  with 
scorn  before  my  friends  and  servants,  and  finally 
committed  me  to  a  vile  prison.  Wilt  thou  not  ac- 
knowledge thou  didst  wrong?" 

"My  lord,"  answered  the  justice  simply,  "my  con- 
science doth  not  condemn  me,  and  even  if  you  slay 
me  for  the  deed,  I  will  not  beg  for  pardon  by  a  lie." 

A  sudden  brilliant  smile  came  to  Henry's  face, 
and  extending  his  hand,  he  answered  distinctly: 
"Since  thou  art  obdurate,  Sir  William,  7  must  yield. 
At  another  time  I  will  make  more  clear  to  thee 
wherein  the  world  hath  wronged  me.  To-day  it 
shall  suffice  that  I  admit  thy  action  against  my  per- 
son was  just  and  wise.  My  lord,  these  men  thou 
dost  condemn  shall  be  banished  from  my  presence 
and  my  thoughts,  and  I  will  curb  the  freedom  of  my 
life,  remembering  that  I  am  now  great  England's 
King.  As  for  thyself,  it  is  our  pleasure  that  thou 
shalt  still  bear  the  sword  of  justice  which  thou  didst 
make  glorious  in  our  father's  reign.  And  further,  be 
thou  near  our  person  at  the  court,  and  if  thou  dost 
perceive  in  us  such  faults  as  misbecome  our  state 
and  dignity,  be  thine  the  tongue  to  frame  a  just  re- 
buke." 


Every  Inch  a  King         279 

As  he  ceased,  a  low  murmur  of  amazement  and 
joy  rose  among  them  all  and  increased  until  it  al- 
most became  a  cheer;  but  Gascoigne  bent  his  knee, 
and  with  eyes  blinded  by  happy  tears  humbly 
kissed  his  youthful  monarch's  hand.  Then,  while 
the  nobles  stood,  amazed  and  doubting,  Henry  ad- 
dressed them  with  serene  dignity.  "My  lords,"  he 
said  simply,  "ye  have  greatly  feared  me,  nor  can  ye 
readily  believe  that  I  will  rule  as  doth  become  my 
state.  Time  must  convince  you  of  my  sincerity,  but 
what  I  purpose  cannot  be  performed  without  your 
aid  and  counsel.  Uncle  of  Winchester,  wilt  thou 
accept  the  place  in  our  royal  council  of  lord  high 
chancellor  ?" 

"I  will,  my  liege,"  answered  Henry  Beaufort, 
with  a  glance  of  triumph  around  him. 

"I  thank  thee,"  answered  the  King  quietly.  "We 
know  the  worth  of  thy  abilities.  Are  my  Lord  of 
Suffolk  and  his  gallant  son  in  presence?"  The  two 
noblemen  came  forward  from  another  part  of  the 
hall.  Henry  greeted  them  with  a  flashing  smile  and 
extended  his  hand,  which  they  kissed  respectfully. 
"Will  ye  aid  us  in  our  government,  my  lords?"  he 
asked,  and  they  joyfully  assented.  The  King  glanced 
swiftly  around  him.  "Where  is  my  dear  Lord 
Thomas  of  Arundel  ?"  he  cried.  Sir  Michael  again 
advanced,  saying, — "He  is  without,  sire,  awaiting 
your  Highness's  pleasure."  The  King  waved  his 
hand  toward  a  group  of  lesser  nobles:  "Attend 
him,  lords,  and  escort  him  to  our  presence  without 


280         Every  Inch  a  King 

delay."  Three  or  four  hastened  to  obey,  and  the 
monarch  awaited  their  return  in  silence.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  young  earl  was  seen  advancing,  his  head 
held  high,  his  cheeks  flushed  and  his  eyes  bright 
with  pleasure  and  excitement.  Henry  greeted  him 
with  the  utmost  heartiness.  "Welcome  once  more 
to  court,  lord  earl,"  he  cried,  "and  may  thy  future 
honors  repay  thee  for  thy  unjust  disgrace.  I  ap- 
point thee  mine  own  successor  as  Constable  of  Dover 
and  Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports.  Wilt  thou  also  be 
our  royal  treasurer,  my  lord?"  Scrope  started  and 
paled  slightly — what  was  to  be  his  future?  But  the 
happy  earl  knelt  and  kissed  his  monarch's  hand  as 
he  answered :  "Your  gracious  words,  my  liege,  have 
blotted  from  my  memory  all  my  past  sorrow,  and 
though  I  am  unworthy  of  these  many  honors,  it  is 
my  dearest  wish  to  serve  my  King." 

Henry  would  not  have  been  human  had  not  a 
gleam  of  triumph  crossed  his  face  as  he  glanced 
first  upon  the  group  of  his  early  friends,  who  stood 
together,  their  heads  held  high,  their  faces  wreathed 
in  smiles,  and  then  allowed  his  eyes  to  rest  upon 
those  others  who  had  so  scorned  him  in  earlier  days. 
Westmoreland  and  Warwick  stood  a  little  apart, 
doubt,  yet  hope,  written  upon  their  faces,  relief  that 
so  much  had  been  nobly  done,  but  fear  that  the 
young  monarch  would  yet  revenge  himself  upon 
those  whom  he  doubtless  considered  his  enemies. 
Archbishop  Arundel  had  turned  half  away  from  the 
royal  person,  his  face  was  set  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon 


Every  Inch  a  King         281 

the  wall  before  him.  Neither  Scrope  nor  Sir  John 
Stanley  dared  face  his  King;  but  while  the  latter 
stood  with  lowered  head  and  fingers  nervously  fum- 
bling with  his  sword,  the  baron  held  his  head 
haughtily  erect,  and  with  firmly  compressed  lips  and 
determined  eyes  awaited  his  sentence.  Without 
doubt  Henry  had  learned  all  the  truth.  What  could 
he  hope  but  his  richly  merited  reward  of  death  ? 

A  moment  the  King  gazed  upon  the  scene  before 
him  and  thought  of  all  the  misery  that  the  doubt  and 
distrust  of  these  men  had  brought  to  him;  then  the 
petty  desire  for  revenge  gave  place  to  the  higher 
vengeance  of  magnanimity.  An  instant  he  turned 
toward  the  two  earls,  smiled  upon  them,  and  said 
briefly,  "Cousin  Neville  and  my  good  Lord  War- 
wick, we  know  the  wisdom  our  father  found  in  you, 
nor  will  our  council  be  complete  without  your  pres- 
ence. We  do  desire  your  assistance  in  all  our  gov- 
ernment." 

"Your  Highness  shall  receive  it,"  they  answered 
heartily;  and  content,  he  turned  once  more  and 
gazed  upon  those  three  uneasy  men  who  would  not 
meet  his  eyes.  An  intense  stillness  fell  upon  the 
great  hall,  and  every  distant  nobleman  tried  to  draw 
nearer,  and  every  ear  listened  eagerly  for  Henry's 
words.  He  had  been  generous — most  generous, 
especially  toward  Gascoigne,  who  stood  near  him, 
watching  every  act  in  the  little  drama  with  the  ut- 
most interest.  It  was  not  in  reason,  thought  many 
of  the  courtiers,  that  the  King,  who  had  been  so 


282          Every  Inch  a  King 

deeply  wronged  (not  by  them,  thank  Heaven!), 
would  forgive  all  his  enemies.  Evidently  the  three 
had  no  expectation  of  forgiveness — they  certainly 
deserved  their  punishment.  Hark !  the  King  speaks. 
Henry's  clear  voice  rang  distinctly  out  through  the 
great  crowded  hall.  "In  our  haste  to  welcome  and 
reward  those  who  were  our  personal  friends  as 
Prince,  we  have  for  the  moment  neglected  those  who 
have  been  our  father's  trusted  friends.  First  of 
these,  in  power,  and  strength,  and  nobleness,  is  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury."  Arundel  turned  and 
coldly  bowed,  but  did  not  meet  Henry's  eyes.  The 
King  gazed  into  his  calm  face  a  moment,  then  took 
a  step  toward  him.  "My  lord  archbishop,"  he  said 
quietly,  "I  cannot  offer  thee  the  proud  place  in  coun- 
cil which  my  father  gave  thee,  yet  I  trust  thou  wilt 
not  deny  to  me  the  wisdom  of  thy  advice  in  govern- 
ment." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  proud  churchman 
started  and  betrayed  his  feelings,  which  were  of 
complete  astonishment.  "Your  Highness  means," 
he  stammered,  "that  you  desire  me  to  join  your 
royal  council  of  state?" 

Henry  bowed.  "Ay,  that  is  our  request.  Thou, 
who  art  the  highest  of  our  churchmen,  didst  place 
our  father's  crown  upon  his  brow.  We  trust  that 
thou  wilt  perform  this  ceremony  for  ourself.  We 
desire  from  henceforth  to  rule  as  mightily  and  ably 
as  any  of  our  ancestors,  and  thy  wisdom  will  aid  us 


Every  Inch  a  King         283 

to  this  achievement.  Canst  thou  deny  this  favor  to 
thy  King?" 

One  instant  the  proud  archbishop  hesitated,  then 
humbled  by  the  earnest  pleading  in  Henry's  eyes,  he 
answered  simply:  "My  liege,  in  chancel,  or  in 
council,  in  high  or  low  estate,  Arundel  will  gladly 
serve  the  King  who  has  this  day  proved  so  worthy 
of  his  race." 

The  color  flamed  into  the  young  man's  face,  and 
as  he  clasped  the  archbishop's  hands  in  his,  the  deep 
brown  eyes  which  had  grown  so  sad  of  late  spoke 
eloquently  of  his  gratitude.  Then  he  turned  appeal- 
ingly  toward  his  friends,  and  his  relief  and  joy  al- 
most overpowered  him  as  Winchester  and  his  old- 
time  enemy  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  young  Prince  whom  they  had  both 
despised  offered  to  each  other  a  friendly  hand.  Then 
the  young  Earl  of  Arundel  came  forward  to  -greet 
his  uncle,  from  whom  he  had  been  so  long  estranged, 
and  the  happy  King  turned  hurriedly  to  the  last  two 
men.  "Sir  John  Stanley,"  he  said  cordially,  "for 
thy  good  services  to  our  country  we  will  bestow 
upon  thee  the  Order  of  the  Garter,  and  do  also 
appoint  thee  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland  for  the 
term  of  six  years,  being  well  assured  that  thou  art 
fully  worthy  of  these  honors."  The  knight,  sur- 
prised and  overwhelmed,  could  only  kiss  Henry's 
hand,  and  upon  his  knees  endeavor  to  stammer  out 
his  gratitude ;  but  the  King  graciously  bade  him  rise, 


284         Every  Inch  a  King 

then  very  quietly  addressed  that  one  man  upon 
whom  every  eye  in  the  assembly  now  rested. 

"My  Lord  Baron  Scrope,  thou  hast  been  a 
friend  both  to  our  father  and  ourself.  For  three 
years  thou  hast  most  worthily  fulfilled  thy  duties  as 
royal  treasurer.  We  would  have  gladly  retained 
thee  in  that  place,  and  near  our  person,  but  circum- 
stances compel  us  to  send  thee  into  France." 

"Am  I  exiled  for  life  ?"  asked  the  baron  hurriedly, 
with  dry  lips. 

"Exiled!"  exclaimed  Henry,  "you  mistake,  my 
lord — or  surely  thou  wert  jesting!  We  send  thee 
upon  a  mission  of  state  so  delicate  and  so  important, 
that  to  thee  alone,  our  dear,  beloved  friend,  dare  we 
trust  the  execution.  Thou  shalt  learn  further  of 
this  without  delay.  Meanwhile,  consider  what 
lords  thou  wilt  choose  to  assist  thee,  and  come  to  our 
chamber  to-morrow  at  an  early  hour." 

As  Scrope  bowed  low  in  assent,  he  tried  to  see 
and  read  his  monarch's  face.  What  did  it  mean? 
Was  Henry  still  ignorant  of  the  truth?  Ah,  how 
he  hated  him  in  his  great  triumph !  If  he  could  only 
strike  a  fatal  blow  before  it  was  too  late !  And  then  he 
started  and  an  evil  light  came  to  his  eyes — ay,  the 
King  was  generous,  he  was  forgiving,  he  was  pre- 
pared to  pardon  and  to  trust  all  who  had  been  his 
ancient  enemies.  Would  he  not  release  and  pardon 
one  who  had  been  a  friend?  And  even  with  the 
thought  there  fell  upon  Scrope's  ears  the  voice  of 
Gascoigne  asking  almost  gaily:  "Your  Highness 


Every  Inch  a  King         285 

hath  assured  all  of  the  court  that  you  will  be  their 
friend.  Will  you  not  ask  of  us  in  return  to  receive 
one  single  man  who  is  a  stranger  to  us  but  not  to 
you?" 

The  King  answered  gravely:  "Ay,  Sir  William, 
there  is  one  for  whom  I  shall  beg  a  welcome." 

"And  his  name,  my  liege?"  asked  the  justice 
quickly. 

A  sudden  silence  fell  upon  all  standing  near,  and 
the  answer  was  distinctly  heard,  and  produced  as 
great  a  sensation  as  any  incident  of  that  eventful 
day.  "His  name,  Sir  William,"  answered  Henry 
calmly,  "is  Edmund  Mortimer,  Lord  Earl  of 
March." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"The  people's  prayer— the  glad  diviner's  theme ! 
The  young  men's  vision,  and  the  old  men's  dream !" 

DRYDEN. 

OH,  how  England  rang  with  the  news  on  that 
March  day !  All  fear  and  doubt  were  banished  from 
the  people's  hearts.  The  Prince  whom  they  had 
loved  for  so  many  years,  whose  brilliant  career  they 
had  watched  so  eagerly,  whose  few  faults  they  had 
forgiven  and  forgotten,  ever  ready  to  close  their 
eyes  to  all  signs  of  evil,  and  to  see  in  the  slightest  of 
his  acts  a  token  of  his  nobility  of  spirit — this  Prince 
whose  assumption  of  the  crown  they  had  anxiously 
awaited,  had  within  the  brief  hour  of  his  first  ap- 
pearance before  the  court  proved  how  richly  he 
deserved  their  trust.  Had  he  not  shown  the  utmost 
generosity  toward  those  who  had  sought  by  every 
means  to  ruin  his  fair  name  ?  Had  he  not  exhibited 
the  greatest  tenderness  toward  his  dead  father? 
Was  it  not  wonderful  that  one  so  young  could,  at  a 
word,  dismiss  all  those  merry  friends  from  his  com- 
panionship and  take  upon  himself  such  majesty  that 
all  men  looked  upon  him  with  amazement?  And 
what  kindness  he  had  shown  toward  his  old  play- 
fellows !  They  were,  indeed,  forbidden  to  come  near 
his  presence  by  ten  miles,  until  such  time  as  their 
behavior  should  be  worthy  of  those  who  would  be 
the  friends  of  England's  King,  yet  in  so  banishing 


Every  Inch  a  King         287 

them  Henry  bestowed  upon  them  such  rich  gifts 
that  they  could  spend  the  remainder  of  their  lives  in 
virtuous  happiness  and  comfort.  And  then  came 
the  news  that  the  young  King  had  summoned  around 
him  the  mightiest  nobles  of  the  land;  that  for  each 
newcomer  he  had  a  hearty  welcome  and  a  place  of 
honor,  and  that  ere  a  day  had  passed  he  had  so 
wrought  upon  them  that  the  proudest  among  them 
did  him  reverence,  and  the  bitterest  enemies  called 
each  other  friends,  their  only  rivalry  being  in  their 
desire  to  serve  their  King! 

Little  wonder,  then,  that  the  bells  pealed  forth, 
the  hill-sides  were  alight  with  bonfires,  and  the 
sturdy  citizens  forgot  their  many  cares  and  gath- 
ered upon  every  street  corner  and  in  every  tavern 
to  shout  and  sing  in  triumph,  only  pausing  long 
enough  between  their  cheers  to  drink  bumper  after 
bumper  to  the  health  of  "Harry  Monmouth,  our 
King,  God  bless  him !"  Never  had  there  been  such 
intense  enthusiasm  throughout  England;  London 
went  almost  wild  with  joy.  And  the  most  delicious 
thought  of  all  to  that  great,  supremely  happy  middle 
class  of  English  people  was  the  knowledge  that  they 
had  not  doubted  nor  misjudged  their  Prince,  but  had 
ever  defended  him  from  calumny,  and  that  at  last 
they  had  proved  their  cause. 

And  the  court?  Were  the  great  nobles  who  had 
wronged  him  so  cruelly  ready  to  acknowledge  that 
they  had  utterly  misjudged  him,  and  that,  except 
for  the  one  brief  month  when  he  had  been  driven 


288         Every  Inch  a  King 

almost  to  despair  by  their  harsh  treatment  of  him, 
and  when,  with  so  much  evil  ready  at  his  hand,  he 
had  yet  touched  so  lightly  upon  sin,  and  had  so 
nobly  paid  the  bitter  penalty — except  for  that,  he 
had  ever  been  worthy  of  his  name  and  place  ?  Never ! 
What,  admit  they  had  so  amazingly  misjudged  him? 
That  all  the  evil  they  had  so  readily  believed  was 
false,  that  the  story  of  his  base  conspiracy  to  seize 
the  throne,  his  traitorous  attempts  against  his 
father's  life,  and  the  charges  against  his  honesty  and 
purity  were  merely  lies?  Incredible!  Nay,  there 
was  a  far  simpler  explanation.  It  was  preposterous 
to  think  that  they  could  be  so  mistaken,  it  was  im- 
possible to  doubt  the  truth  of  all  those  evil  rumors ! 
There  was  too  great  an  array  of  "proof"  against  the 
Prince !  No,  the  truth  was  that  they  had  indeed  been 
accurate  in  their  judgment  of  him,  but  that  God,  in 
his  goodness,  had  seen  fit  to  show  his  mercy  to  his 
faithful  people,  and  in  the  hour  of  the  King's  death 
had  so  changed  the  nature  of  their  gracious  Prince 
that  he  had  repented  humbly  of  his  past  sins,  and 
had  put  the  old  evil  behind  him,  appearing  before 
them  as  pure  as  though  he  had  passed  seven  times 
through  the  cleansing  fire.  In  the  King's  grave 
had  been  buried  the  old  spirit,  and  by  a  miracle  he 
who  was  in  future  to  rule  over  them  received  in  its 
stead  a  spirit  full  of  such  nobility  that  every  man,  in 
grateful  wonder,  must  yield  him  reverence  and  serve 
him  with  humble  love. 

Such  was  the  verdict  of  the  court,  and  for  many 


Every  Inch  a  King         289 

centuries  history  has  repeated  its  decision  and 
stated  solemnly  that  "Henry's  youth  had  been  wild 
and  dissolute,"  but  that  his  nature  changed  entirely 
when  he  became  king ! 

Harry  Monmouth,  however,  knew  nothing  of  his 
own  "sudden  regeneration,"  and  so  was  without  the 
comforting  knowledge  that  those  who  had  once  de- 
spised him  and  called  him  a  headstrong  boy  now 
gazed  upon  him  with  wonder  not  unmixed  with  awe, 
and  in  their  pride  and  joy  and  gratitude  were  pre- 
pared to  serve  him  faithfully,  with  honor  and  with 
love, — one  must  not  disobey  or  distrust  a  being 
whose  spirit  is  the  gift  of  God!  But  Henry,  al- 
though hoping  to  win  their  confidence  in  time,  be- 
lieved that  it  would  be  a  long  and  difficult  task ;  and 
as  he  folded  his  dignity  about  him  as  a  garment, 
how  desperately  he  longed  for  even  one  hour  of  free- 
dom and  happiness !  But  he  never  faltered,  he  never 
despaired.  The  merry  past  he  had  put  behind  him 
forever,  nor  did  he  even  allow  himself  a  backward 
glance.  The  severe  duties  of  the  present  filled  his 
mind.  It  was  his  task  first  to  heal  the  personal  feuds 
of  the  court  and  win  the  cordial,  loving  support  of 
every  nobleman;  then  to  unite  all  his  people  in  the 
close  bond  of  loyalty  to  their  King;  and  finally  to 
lead  this  united  nation  to  such  great  victories  that 
England  should  be  feared  and  reverenced  in  every 
land. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  for  a  young  man  of 
twenty-five,  believing  that  he  was  distrusted  on 


290         Every  Inch  a  King 

every  hand,  to  set  before  himself;  but  the  glorious 
manner  in  which  Harry  Monmouth  fulfilled  it  forms 

one  of  the  brightest  pages  in  history. 

******* 

The  Duke  of  Clarence,  hastening  home  from 
France  in  response  to  the  urgent  appeals  of  Arch- 
bishop Arundel  and  his  friends,  was  in  a  most 
anxious  frame  of  mind.  Messenger  after  messenger 
had  reached  him  imploring  his  instant  return. — 
"The  King,  thy  father,  lies  at  point  of  death;  thy 
eldest  brother  is  unfit  to  rule ;  return,  we  do  beseech 
thee,  ere  all  is  lost!  The  crown  is  thine,  wilt  thou 
but  come  for  it."  Harry  unfit?  Harry  to  ruin  them 
if  he  should  rule?  The  crown  to  be  offered  unto 
him?  Truly,  the  English  nobles  had  gone  mad! 
The  young  duke,  who  had  trusted  and  loved  his 
brother  with  all  his  heart,  had  been  too  occupied 
with  battles  and  diplomacy  to  lend  an  ear  to  gossip. 
But  now,  amazed  and  bewildered,  he  sought  on  every 
side  to  learn  the  meaning  of  this  intense  anxiety,  and 
there  was  poured  into  his  ears  an  array  of  charges 
against  the  Prince  which  stunned  him.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  his  beloved  brother  had  so  changed? 
Doubting  and  dismayed,  he  hurriedly  set  sail  and 
had  just  landed  at  Dover,  when  the  final  message 
reached  him,  telling  of  the  King's  sudden  death  and 
the  reluctant  proclamation  of  Henry  as  the  new 
ruler.  "Thy  delay  hath  been  our  ruin,"  wrote  Earl 
Warwick.  "Yet,  dear  my  lord,  I  pray  thee,  hasten 
to  us.  Mayhap  thy  influence  may  save  us  from  dis- 


Every  Inch  a  King         291 

grace  and  banishment.  The  Prince  doth  keep  his 
chamber  and  no  man  hath  seen  his  face.  We  trem- 
ble when  we  think  upon  our  future." 

A  few  hours  later,  Clarence,  travelling  with  the 
utmost  speed,  arrived  in  London.  As  he  rode  through 
the  crowded  streets  he  was  cheered  heartily,  but  to 
his  amazement  it  was  as  the  brother  of  the  King! 
Harry's  name  was  on  every  lip,  and  the  bursts  of 
applause  which  greeted  every  mention  of  him  were 
well-nigh  deafening.  "The  King's  brother — the 
King's  brother,"  would  be  the  cry;  and  then,  "The 
King — God  bless  him !"  and  the  shouts  would  swell 
and  swell,  until  it  seemed  as  though  every  man  in 
England  must  be  present  to  add  his  voice  to  the  great 
chorus  of  cheers.  "So,"  thought  the  duke,  much 
puzzled,  "Harry  is  worshipped  by  such  men  as  these. 
Would  they  applaud  the  downfall  of  the  nobles? 
Would  they  accept  Falstaff  as  chancellor?"  He  rode 
hurriedly  out  to  Westminster,  and  sent  an  officer  to 
inform  the  King  of  his  arrival,  then  entering  the 
hall,  he  glanced  around  it  curiously.  It  was  crowded 
by  noblemen — the  highest  of  the  land,  and  of 
every  party.  Winchester  and  Archbishop  Arun- 
del  formed  the  centre  of  a  little  circle  who  were 
engaged  in  earnest  but  quiet  conversation.  Gas- 
coigne  and  Lord  Suffolk  stood  beside  Chancellor 
Courtenay,  and  near  them  were  Earl  Arundel  and 
Lord  Warwick  laughing  over  a  story  which  Sir 
John  Stanley  was  in  the  act  of  telling  them. 
Clarence  fairly  gasped.  Men  who  had  hated  each 


29 2         Every  Inch  a  King 

other  bitterly  were  standing  side  by  side  talking  ear- 
nestly or  gaily,  as  the  case  might  be.  Nobles  who 
had  not  been  at  court  for  years  held  honorable 
places  among  that  gay  throng — and  neither  Falstaff, 
nor  Poins  nor  Bardolph  were  present!  What  had 
come  to  pass? 

The  archbishop,  suddenly  glancing  up,  saw  the 
young  Prince  standing,  amazed,  upon  the  threshold, 
and  came  hastily  forward  to  greet  him.  "Ah,  my 
lord  duke,  we  are  right  glad  to  welcome  thee  home 
once  more,"  he  exclaimed.  Clarence  stared  at  his 
smiling,  confident  face  in  bewilderment.  "Art  still 
at  court,  my  lord?"  he  demanded  bluntly,  too  con- 
fused to  even  return  his  greeting. 

The  churchman  laughed  gaily.  "As  thou  seest, 
my  lord ;  ay.  and  at  the  King's  request,  I  am  to  be  a 
member  of  his  council.  These  are  joyful  days  for 
England,  Prince;  her  King  is  noblest  of  all  noble 
men." 

"Ye  did  misjudge  him,  then !"  cried  Clarence  joy- 
fully ;  but  Arundel  shook  his  head.  "Nay,  Prince,  I 
fear  we  scarcely  knew  his  faults,  but  when  thy  father 
died  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  soften  Prince  Harry's 
heart.  He  has  repented  of  his  evil  deeds,  and  now 
doth  live  a  pure  and  upright  life,  governing  the 
realm  with  power  and  majesty.  His  present  nature 
is  the  antithesis  of  his  former  self — thou  wilt  find 
him  wondrous  changed,  my  lord." 

He  ceased  abruptly  and  drew  back  with  a  low 
bow,  leaving  the  young  duke  standing  alone.  A 


Every  Inch  a  King         293 

hush  of  expectancy  had  passed  over  the  room  and 
now  every  face  brightened  with  a  spontaneous  joy, 
and  every  head  was  bowed  as  if  its  highest  pleasure 
lay  in  that  obeisance. 

The  young  King  had  entered,  and  as  he  passed 
among  them  Clarence  noticed  his  gentle  gracious- 
ness.  Was  he  altered  ?  His  face  was  paler  than  of 
old,  and  a  certain  sadness  lingered  in  his  eyes,  as  if 
he  had  suffered  during  these  long  months.  There  was 
also  an  air  of  sovereignty  about  him  which  became 
him  well,  but  the  brilliant  smile  which  filled  his  face 
with  radiance  was  unchanged,  and  his  voice  had 
never,  been  more  sweet  and  winning  than  when, 
with  outstretched  hands  he  cried:  "Welcome,  my 
brother,  thrice  welcome  to  England  and  to  our 
court!"  And  at  his  words  there  flashed  through 
Clarence's  mind  the  thought  of  their  last  meeting, 
when  Henry  had  been  denied  admittance  to -the 
Council  Chamber,  and  with  a  sudden  realization  of 
all  the  shame  and  anguish  he  had  suffered,  the 
young  duke  gazed  into  his  brother's  eyes  and 
answered  with  a  solemn  depth  of  gratitude, — 
"Thank  God  that  I  can  greet  thee  as  my  King !" 

And  at  that  moment  came  what  must  have  been 
the  young  King's  greatest  triumph,  unequalled  even 
by  his  victories;  for  while  he  stood,  surrounded  by 
many  of  his  court,  and  still  believing  that  they  dis- 
trusted him  and  wondering  if  he  could  win  his 
people's  love,  there  came  a  messenger  from  Parlia- 
ment, the  members  of  which,  summoned  from  the 


294          Every  Inch  a  King 

remote  parts  of  the  country,  had  assembled  within 
the  hour.  "Great  King,"  he  said,  "the  lords  and 
commons  assembled  this  day  in  your  high  court  of 
Parliament,  do  crave  permission  of  you  to  send  in 
their  allegiance  without  delay,  for  they  so  love  and 
honor  you  that  they  would  pledge  their  lives  unto 
the  service  of  your  Highness's  person  before  your 
consecration  and  coronation  make  you  their  sacred 
King." 

An  instant's  intense  silence,  while  every  man 
slowly  realized  that  never  before  in  the  history  of 
their  country  had  such  an  honor  been  offered  to  a 
monarch,  and  then  the  courtiers  expressed  their  joy- 
ful congratulations  in  a  ringing  cheer.  It  was  some 
moments  before  Henry  could  be  heard;  and  then 
slowly,  in  a  voice  broken  by  his  emotion,  he  made 
a  response  so  worthy  of  his  greatness  that  the  world 
still  reads  and  echoes  the  applause  of  his  enthusi- 
astic courtiers : 

"I  thank  my  lords  and  commons,"  he  said,  "for 
this  evidence  of  their  devotion,  and  do  exhort  them 
in  their  spheres  to  use  their  power  for  the  advance- 
ment of  the  kingdom.  The  first  act  of  my  reign 
shall  be  to  pardon  all  who  have  offended  me ;  and  I 
do  so  desire  my  people's  felicity,  that  I  will  be 
crowned  on  no  other  condition  than  to  use  all  my 
powers  to  secure  it.  I  pray  unto  God  that  if  he 
foresees  I  am  like  to  be  any  other  than  a  just  and 
good  king,  he  may  be  pleased  to  take  me  from  the 
world  rather  than  seat  me  on  a  throne  to  live  a 
public  calamity  to  my  country." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"I  would  be  friends  with  you  and  have  your  love." 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

ALONE  in  his  prison  chamber,  pacing  the  floor 
with  restless  stride,  his  head  bowed  and  his  face 
troubled,  was  Edmund  Mortimer.  Four  days  had 
passed  since  Henry  Bolingbroke  had  closed  his  eyes 
in  death,  and  never  had  the  young  captive  spent  days 
more  filled  with  anxiety.  His  dear,  beloved  friend, 
who  had  passed  so  many  precious  hours  in  this  very 
chamber,  who  had  promised  to  use  his  utmost  influ- 
ence to  set  the  earl  free  and  secure  his  happiness, 
was  now  the  King  and  clothed  with  might  and 
power, — and  still  he  was  a  prisoner!  What  did  it 
mean?  Had  Henry  Fifth  banished  every  friend  of 
Harry  Monmouth's  ?  Or  was  he  alone  entirely  for- 
gotten in  the  young  monarch's  triumph?  Could  it 
be  that  the  King  feared  him,  or  doubted  his  loyalty, 
now  that  the  sceptre  was  in  his  own  hand?  Such 
an  explanation  seemed  impossible,  and  yet  if  the 
Prince  had  changed  so  greatly  as  rumor  claimed, 
perhaps  he  did  expect  like  change  in  others ! 

Gloomily,  the  earl  reviewed  the  past  months.  His 
last  meeting  with  Henry  had  been  in  August,  when 
the  Prince  had  tarried  for  a  day  at  Windsor  and 
had  brought  him  news  of  the  safe  arrival  of  Lady 
Anne  at  Exeter.  He  had  noticed  then,  with  much 


296          Every  Inch  a  King 

anxiety,  that  Henry  seemed  no  longer  able  to  dispel 
the  gloom  which  was  settling  upon  his  spirit;  and 
although  Mortimer  had  made  every  effort  to  cheer 
his  guest,  it  had  been  of  no  avail. 

A  few  weeks  later  the  Prince  had  returned  to 
London,  where  alarming  stories  were  at  once  whis- 
pered about  him,  many  of  which  reached  the  earl 
through  his  guards  and  servants.  These  suddenly 
culminated  in  the  tale  of  Henry's  arrest;  and  then 
Mortimer  could  obtain  only  vague  rumors  to  the 
effect  that  the  Prince  had  left  the  city  once  more  and 
gone  into  the  north.  A  month  later  came  his  recon- 
ciliation with  the  King,  followed  by  general  dismay 
and  apprehension  at  the  court;  and  now  England 
was  hailing  the  young  ruler  as  one  new  born  to 
righteousness. 

It  was  a  vague,  uncertain  story  at  the  best,  full  of 
apparent  contradictions,  and  the  more  Lord  March 
endeavored  to  trace  the  truth,  the  more  confused 
and  alarmed  did  he  become.  He  was  amazed  that 
Henry  had  neither  journeyed  to  Windsor  nor  sent 
him  any  message;  but  until  the  King's  death  he  had 
contented  himself  with  the  thought  that  his  Prince 
must  be  kept  away  by  events  beyond  his  control ; 
now,  however,  since  Henry  was  all-powerful,  this 
reason  could  no  longer  explain  his  silence,  and  Mor- 
timer concluded  that  either  he  had  been  entirely  for- 
gotten or  else  that  the  new  King  would  follow  his 
father's  policy  and  keep  him  a  close  prisoner. 

The  young  earl  had  been  so  long  shut  within  four 


Every  Inch  a  King         297 

walls  that  his  own  narrow  life  had  formed  his  little 
world ;  and  he  did  not  realize  that  the  King  of  Eng- 
land, upon  his  accession  to  the  throne,  had  matters 
of  more  importance  to  consider  than  the  freedom  of 
any  single  man,  however  noble  in  blood  or  dear  in 
friendship.  Yet  when,  later,  this  knowledge  came 
upon  him,  it  was  accompanied  by  deep  wonder  and 
admiration  that  in  the  midst  of  all  his  manifold  and 
difficult  duties,  so  promptly  and  thoroughly  per- 
formed, Henry  of  Monmouth  could  yet  find  thought 
and  leisure  to  accomplish  those  little  things  which 
make  life  so  happy  and  beautiful  for  both  high  and 
low. 

This  revelation  was  near  at  hand;  for  even  as 
Mortimer  paced  his  room  with  a  gloomy  and 
troubled  brow,  there  came  a  vigorous  rap  upon  his 
door,  and  in  answer  to  his  summons  there  entered 
two  gentlemen,  richly  dressed,  at  sight  of  whom  the 
earl  sprang  quickly  forward  with  a  cry  of  welcome : 
"My  Lord  Arundel  and  Sir  Michael  de  la  Pole !  Ye 
are  most  kind  to  seek  my  prison  chamber;  'tis  rare 
indeed  that  I  am  honored  by  such  noble  guests." 

"I  would  that  we  might  claim  that  exalted  desig- 
nation," said  Arundel,  laughing,  as  they  clasped 
hands.  "In  truth,  we  are  but  humble  messengers 
bearing  a  letter  from  our  gracious  King." 

He  drew  forth  a  packet,  of  which  Mortimer,  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  brilliant  eyes,  broke  the  seal. 
The  letter  was  in  Henry's  own  handwriting,  and 
ran  as  follows : 


298         Every  Inch  a  King 

"To  our  dearly  beloved  friend  and  kinsman,  Lord 
Edmund  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March,  greeting: 

"We  send  to  thee  our  good  friends  the  Earl  of 
Arundel  and  the  Knight  de  la  Pole,  who  have  re- 
ceived from  us  full  power  to  give  thee  thy  unre- 
stricted liberty.  We  have  secured  from  our  royal 
brother  the  Duke  of  Clarence  a  grant  of  all  the  lands 
in  his  possession  which  once  belonged  unto  thine 
honored  father.  These  it  is  our  purpose  to  bestow 
upon  thee,  that  thou  mayst  suitably  sustain  thy  rank. 

"We  will  give  thee  a  hearty  welcome  at  our  court, 
and  do  desire  that  thou  come  hither  with  thine 
utmost  speed,  for  it  is  long  since  we  have  seen  thy 
face. 

"HENRY  R." 


As  Mortimer  raised  his  eyes  from  the  missive  the 
blush  of  shame  was  upon  his  cheeks.  "I  have  deeply 
wronged  the  Prince,"  he  said  bravely  to  the  noble- 
men before  him.  "We  have  been  so  near  in  friend- 
ship that  I  expected  instant  freedom;  and  during 
these  weary  days  my  heart  misgave  me,  and  my 
thoughts  were  both  disloyal  and  unjust.  Oh,  how 
could  I  have  doubted  his  graciousness !" 

"My  lord,"  Sir  Michael  answered,  "methinks 
thou  dost  not  understand  the  thing  that  he  has  done. 
The  country  is  amazed  that  he  will  free  thee,  and  his 
advisers  counselled  him  against  it.  Dost  thou  for- 
get that  thou  wert  Richard's  heir?" 

"Prince  Harry  hath  no  cause  to  doubt  my  loy- 
alty," cried  Mortimer  angrily. 

"Nay,  my  lord,"  said  Arundel  quickly,  "'tis  not  a 


Every  Inch  a  King         299 

question  of  thy  loyalty,  but  some  do  fear  that  dis- 
contented men  will  seize  upon  thy  freedom  as  a  pre- 
text to  rebel  against  the  House  of  Lancaster." 

"Dost  think  I  would  consent  to  such  villainy?" 
the  earl  exclaimed  impatiently. 

De  la  Pole  smiled.  "They  would  not  ask  for  thy 
consent,  my  lord.  Nay,  my  Lord  Mortimer,  do  not 
think  we  doubt  thee,  'twas  but  my  purpose  to  make 
clear  to  thee  how  others  do  regard  the  young  King's 
action.  Upon  the  first  day  that  he  appeared  before 
us,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  appointments  to  his 
council,  he  spoke  of  thee  and  said  that  he  would  set 
thee  at  liberty.  The  court  was  astonished  at  the 
news,  yet  he  would  not  listen  to  a  single  protest." 

The  earl  flushed  with  gratified  pride  that  he  had 
been  remembered  at  such  a  time,  yet  he  asked  hesi- 
tatingly :  "Why,  then,  has  he  delayed  my  freedom 
for  so  long?" 

"By  Heaven,"  cried  Arundel  hotly,  "dost  think 
the  King  hath  no  measures  of  more  importance  to 
consider  than  the  freeing  a  single  man  ?" 

"Nay,  Arundel,  bethink  thee  what  thou  sayest," 
cautioned  the  knight,  for  Lord  March  had  straight- 
ened himself  in  offended  dignity. 

"I  crave  thy  pardon  for  my  hasty  words,"  said  the 
soldier  quickly ;  "King  Henry  doth  so  labor,  day  and 
night,  to  advance  the  welfare  of  his  kingdom,  that 
we,  his  friends,  regard  his  white  cheeks  and  sleep- 
laden  eyes  with  deep  anxiety.  'Twas  that  which 
roused  mine  anger,  not  thy  words." 


300         Every  Inch  a  King 

Mortimer  extended  his  hand,  and  answered 
frankly :  "I  was  at  fault,  my  lord.  'Tis  difficult  for 
a  man  so  much  alone  as  I  not  to  believe  that  he  is 
all-important  in  the  world.  I  did  forget  that  kings 
have  other  matters  to  think  upon  besides  the  wel- 
fare even  of  their  friends." 

"And  yet,  my  lord,"  said  Michael,  "this  was  not 
the  reason  for  his  delay.  Scarce  a  day  passed  but  he 
would  speak  of  thee,  and  say  to  those  of  us  who 
knew  thee  slightly,  'I  would  that  Edmund  were  at 
Westminster;'  but  he  would  add,  'I  shall  not  send 
for  him  until  my  brother  Thomas  doth  return  and 
give  to  me  his  lands.  When  Edmund  doth  appear 
before  the  court,  it  must  be  as  the  wealthy  Earl  of 
March,  not  as  a  poor,  untitled  prisoner.'  It  was  but 
yestereven  the  duke  arrived,  and  ere  he  had  been 
present  a  short  hour  the  King  took  him  aside,  and 
they  stood  long  alone.  Then  Henry  sent  for  us  and 
bade  us  ride  to  Windsor  in  the  early  morning  and 
bring  thee  back  with  speed.  He  was  smiling  happily 
as  if  that  which  he  had  long  desired  were  accom- 
plished. Prince  Thomas  looked  both  puzzled  and 
dismayed,  as  though  he  scarce  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him,  and  so  I  guessed  that  he  had  given  up 
the  lands." 

Mortimer  opened  his  letter  once  more.  "Ay,  Sir 
Michael,  Henry  doth  speak  of  it  herein.  Oh,  how 
unworthy  am  I  of  his  goodness!  My  lords,"  con- 
tinued the  earl,  turning  appealingly  toward  both 
noblemen,  "ye  two  who  are  the  King's  friends,  can 


Every  Inch  a  King         301 

ye  forgive  me  my  ungrateful  thoughts,  and  let  me 
share  the  love  that  he  doth  give  you?  I  do  desire 
greatly  the  friendship  of  you  both — when  I  shall 
have  proved  myself  deserving,  will  ye  grant  this 
boon?" 

"Tis  we  who  should  sue  for  thy  friendship," 
cried  Arundel  impulsively.  "When  my  Lord  of 
March,  the  cousin  and  favorite  of  the  King,  appears 
at  court,  he  will  have  a  score  of  noblemen  seeking  to 
do  him  pleasure.  And  shall  Arundel  and  the  Knight 
de  la  Pole  be  then  considered  worthy  of  a  word  ?" 

"My  lord,"  answered  Mortimer  simply,  "my  love 
will  not  be  freely  given  to  any  one  who  asks  it.  My 
King  doth  hold  the  chief  share  of  my  heart, — when 
I  have  divided  the  remainder  between  his  two  dear- 
est friends  there  shall  none  be  left." 

Arundel  looked  slightly  puzzled  by  this  speech, 
but  Michael  understood  the  feeling  of  dread  which 
this  young  prisoner  must  feel  at  going  out  into  the 
great  world,  and  also  the  longing  in  his  heart  for 
friends  who  would  be  sincere;  so,  with  a  quiet  ear- 
nestness of  manner  the  knight  looked  into  Morti- 
mer's eyes,  saying,  "Lord  Edmund,  we  are  friends 
from  this  day." 

The  young  earl  seized  his  hand,  and  when  Arun- 
del cried,  "I,  too,  my  lord,  will  truly  be  thy  friend," 
his  cup  of  happiness  was  full  to  overflowing. 

An  hour  later  the  three  young  men,  attended  by 
an  extensive  retinue,  were  on  their  way  to  London ; 
and  in  spite  of  the  wretched  roads  the  sun  had  scarce 


302          Every  Inch  a  King 

begun  to  descend  from  its  highest  place  in  the 
heavens  ere  the  palace  came  in  view.  On  their  ar- 
rival Arundel  took  Lord  March  to  his  own  cham- 
ber, where  the  latter  donned  a  gorgeous  costume  of 
white  satin,  wearing  a  black  band  upon  his  arm  as  a 
token  of  respect  for  the  late  King. 

Henry  had  been  informed  of  their  arrival,  and  so 
had  descended  to  the  dining  hall  to  welcome  them. 
It  was  a  wonderful  scene  which  met  the  young  earl's 
gaze.  Accustomed  from  childhood  to  the  four  walls 
of  his  prison  room,  this  lofty  and  extensive  chamber 
seemed  almost  awe-inspiring.  To  his  eyes,  the  hall 
was  crowded,  and  the  gay  court  costumes  of  both 
men  and  women  formed  a  dazzling  mass  of  color, 
while  the  low  hum  of  voices,  broken  here  and  there 
by  a  silvery  laugh,  produced  the  effect  upon  him  of 
loud  and  discordant  sound.  Had  he  been  of  plebeian 
birth,  Mortimer  would  have  been  confused  and  em- 
barrassed in  his  unaccustomed  situation;  but  the 
blood  of  princes  was  throbbing  in  his  veins,  and  he 
moved  forward  between  his  gallant  friends  with 
calm  face  and  unhesitating  step. 

The  gay  throng  separated  and  drew  back,  leav- 
ing an  open  space  between  the  advancing  trio  and 
that  slender,  upright  figure,  whose  black  robe  made 
the  only  blot  upon  the  brilliant  scene.  And  suddenly 
the  meaning  of  it  all  became  clear  to  the  young  earl, 
and  his  hand  trembled  and  his  cheek  grew  white 
with  excitement.  Until  that  moment  he  had  ex- 
pected to  greet  Harry  Monmouth,  his  dear-beloved 


Every  Inch  a  King         303 

friend.  Even  the  letter  had  failed  to  reveal  the 
truth  to  him,  but  now,  as  in  a  flash,  he  realized  that 
he  was  to  appear  before  his  mighty  King.  No  fond 
embrace,  no  tender,  loving  word — those  days  were 
over  and  the  time  had  come  for  humbly  bended 
knee  and  deep  respect  in  tone  and  manner.  Ay,  the 
gracious,  loving  Prince  had  changed  as  if  by  magic 
into  a  being  great  and  noble,  far  above  his  subjects, 
— a  god  among  men. 

They  were  nearer  now,  and  Mortimer  raised  his 
eyes  and  gave  one  glance  into  the  face  before  him. 
Upon  that  calm  white  brow  sat  majesty  enthroned ; 
regal  dignity  was  in  the  poise  of  the  uncrowned 
head,  and  the  eyes  had  lost  their  troubled  look  and  at 
last  were  serene  and  confident.  But  as  the  earl  sank 
upon  his  knees  a  change  came  to  the  face,  a  loving 
look  flashed  into  the  brown  eyes,  and  the  lips  curved 
in  the  enchanting,  joyous  smile  which  had  been  the 
Prince's  chief  charm;  and  Mortimer,  kissing  the 
hand  held  out  to  him,  felt  vaguely  that  there  was 
something  wonderful  in  those  opposing  qualities, 
but  could  not  realize  that  Henry  of  Monmouth,  al- 
most alone  among  the  kings  of  history,  had  united 
and  blended  in  perfect  unison  the  calm  majesty  of 
a  great  monarch  with  the  sweet  graciousness  of  a 
loving  man. 

As  Henry's  voice  sounded  in  his  ears,  bidding 
him  welcome  to  the  court,  the  Earl  of  March  looked 
into  the  eyes  he  loved  so  well,  and  in  a  clear  voice 
answered  fervently :  "Sire,  I  thank  you  with  all  my 


304         Every  Inch  a  King 

heart  for  this  gracious  welcome;  and  here,  before 
the  members  of  your  court,  1  beg  to  offer  your  High- 
ness my  allegiance;  and  I  swear  that  while  I  live  I 
will  acknowledge  you  as  my  true  and  lawful  King, 
and  that  my  sword  and  life  shall  be  ever  at  the  ser- 
vice of  my  sovereign." 

"I  thank  you,  Earl  of  March,"  answered  the 
King,  and  then,  while  the  hall  rang  with  cheers,  he 
raised  the  kneeling  earl  to  his  feet,  and  added 
softly:  "God  bless  thee,  Edmund,  mine  eyes  have 
hungered  for  thee,  and  it  doth  make  me  happy  to  see 
thee  at  last  in  thy  rightful  place." 

An  hour  later,  when  Henry  sat  down  to  dine,  the 
Earl  of  March  was  placed  at  his  right  hand ;  but  so 
attractive  was  Mortimer's  fair  young  face,  and  so 
touching  his  evident  devotion  to  the  King,  that  not 
one  of  the  great  nobles  begrudged  him  his  exalted 
seat. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

'Soft  is  the  breath  of  a  maiden's  yes ; 
Not  the  light  gossamer  stirs  with  less; 
But  never  a  cable  that  holds  so  fast 
Through  all  the  battles  of  wave  and  blast." 

HOLMES. 

"METHINKS  the  hour  is  nigh  when  we  must 
part."  The  Lady  of  Devon  pulled  the  threads  in 
and  out  of  the  piece  of  tapestry  she  was  weaving, 
and  glanced  swiftly  at  the  maiden  by  her  side,  who 
was  busily  engaged  in  sewing  upon  a  long  silken  veil 
which  she  hoped  one  day  to  wear  over  her  head  dur- 
ing a  certain  very  sacred  ceremony.  She  blushed 
now  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  demurely  upon  her 
work.  "'Tis  fortunate,"  continued  Lady  Eleanor  in 
a  musing  tone,  "that  thy  wardrobe  is  at  last  com- 
plete, and  thou  canst  finish  yonder  veil  in  a  few 
hours.  Thou  wilt  be  arrayed  as  charmingly  as  any 
lady  of  the  court.  I  shall  miss  thee,  Anne,  when 
thou  hast  gone  to  thy  lover — old  Rougemont  will  be 
gloomy  indeed  without  thy  sweet,  merry  presence." 

The  Lady  Anne  Stafford  reached  out  and  seized 
one  of  the  countess's  hands,  pressingupon  it  a  fervent 
little  kiss.  "How  kind  thou  hast  been  to  me,"  she 
murmured.  "Thou  hast  labored  for  me  throughout 
these  long  months,  and  thou  hast  thyself  supplied 

ft 


306         Every  Inch  a  King 

those  fine  linens  and  velvets  and  exquisite  silks — in 
truth,  I  am  provided  like  a  queen;  and  all  has  been 
thy  gift,  yet  a  year  since  thou  didst  not  know  my 
name.  Oh,  was  there  ever  goodness  like  to  this  ?" 

Eleanor  laughed  softly,  and  leaning  forward 
kissed  Anne's  pink  cheek.  "Dear,  wilt  thou  not  wed 
my  brother?"  she  asked  gaily.  "Could  I  permit  his 
bride  to  appear  in  unworthy  raiment?" 

"Nay,  but  my  mother  would  have  provided  me 
when  she  did  learn  the  truth." 

"Ay,  doubtless,"  answered  the  countess,  "but 
wouldst  thou  have  been  content  to  wait  another  year 
before  thy  marriage?  Nay,  my  sweet  sister  that  is 
to  be,  this  hath  been  a  happy  winter  in  my  quiet  life. 
I  have  stitched  many  joyful  thoughts  and  prayers 
into  thy  wedding  garments.  Anne,  when  the  Prince 
warned  me  thou  wert  approaching,  my  heart  was 
filled  with  anxious  fears ;  but  thy  presence  here  hath 
been  a  constant  joy  to  me.  Ay,  and  my  Lord  Ed- 
ward also  hath  been  comforted  in  his  affliction  by 
thy  sweet  voice  and  ready  sympathy." 

Anne  smiled  brightly  in  answer  to  these  words. 
It  had  indeed  been  a  happy,  busy  winter  for  all  the 
inhabitants  of  Rougemont.  The  blind  earl  and  his 
devoted  countess  had  taken  the  young  maiden  into 
their  warm  hearts,  while  she  had  repaid  their  great 
kindness  by  such  a  sunny  spirit  of  contentment  that 
no  one  could  be  gloomy  or  dissatisfied  in  her  pres- 
ence, but  all  were  fain  to  share  her  joyousness.  The 
extensive  preparations  for  her  marriage  had  kept 


Every  Inch  a  King         307 

not  only  Eleanor  and  Anne  herself  constantly  em- 
ployed, but  every  woman  servant  within  the  castle 
had  shared  in  the  pleasant  labor. 

The  countess  had,  from  the  first,  perceived  that 
since  the  Lady  Stafford  must  remain  in  hiding  until 
Mortimer  was  enabled  to  marry  her,  she  would  be 
obliged  to  choose  between  the  alternatives  of  wait- 
ing for  long  months  afterward,  while  her  mother 
provided  proper  garments  for  her,  or  of  marrying 
without  delay  and  appearing  unworthily  gowned  for 
her  position.  Therefore,  Eleanor,  whose  few  years 
of  married  life  had  not  destroyed  the  memories  of 
those  sweet  days  when  she  was  herself  a  bride,  at 
once  determined  that  this  high-born  maiden  should 
be  suitably  prepared  for  the  great  event  of  her  life. 
The  earl's  consent  was  easily  obtained — his  only  liv- 
ing child,  a  son  by  his  first  wife,  had  already  mar- 
ried— and  the  young  countess  labored  with  as  much 
love  and  pleasure  as  if  she  had  been  making  ready 
her  own  daughter. 

And  now,  at  last,  all  was  completed.  The  rich 
materials  had  been  converted  into  exquisite  gar- 
ments, and  the  fair  young  bride  spent  many  happy 
hours  in  gazing  delightedly  upon  that  goodly  array 
— what  true  woman  does  not  enjoy  the  possession  of 
beautiful  apparel? 

Yet  now  that  the  long-expected  day  was  fast  ap- 
proaching, the  future  seemed  a  vague,  uncertain 
dream  to  Lady  Anne.  Would  her  lover  be  set  at 
freedom?  And  would  he  still  desire  the  maiden 


308         Every  Inch  a  King 

whose  heart  he  held?  "Will  he  not  marry  me  at 
some  wayside  chapel  and  take  me  secretly  to  Scot- 
land with  him?"  she  asked  fearfully. 

The  countess's  voice  rang  out  in  a  peal  of  merry 
laughter.  "What,  hast  thou  lost  thy  courage,  Mis- 
tress Anne  ?  Hast  thou  not  said  a  score  of  times  to 
me  that  thou  wouldst  gladly  wed  him  in  his  prison  ? 
And  dost  thou  hesitate  to  live  with  him  in  exile  ?" 

"No,  no!"  she  cried  eagerly;  "I  would  follow  him 
unto  the  ends  of  the  earth;  but,  dearest  madam," 
she  continued,  half  laughing,  half  ashamed  of  her 
desire,  "I  would  that  I  might  wear  my  pretty  gowns 
at  court." 

"And  so  thou  shalt,"  cried  Eleanor,  embracing 
her.  "Fear  not,  my  sweet,  the  Prince  will  give  thee 
every  happiness." 

"How  greatly  thou  dost  trust  him,"  murmured 
Anne. 

Eleanor  flushed  as  the  memory  came  to  her  of 
that  happy  night  when  he  had  sung  that  passionate 
ode  to  love, — the  tender  voice  still  rang  in  her  will- 
ing ears,  but  she  answered  very  gravely, — "He  is 
my  prince — my  king.  Whate'er  is  best,  that  he  will 
surely  do." 

"When  did  the  messenger  say  the  late  King 
died  ?"  asked  my  Lady  Stafford  musingly. 

"Upon  the  twentieth; — 'tis  twelve  days  agone." 

"And  upon  what  day  will  the  Prince  be 
crowned  ?" 

"Nay,  thou  canst  not  hope  to  witness  that  great 


Every  Inch  a  King         309 

ceremony,"  answered  the  countess.  "'Twill  be  in 
eight  days  more — upon  the  Qth  of  April." 

"Dost  thou  not  think  thy  brother  will  be  freed 
before  that  day?"  asked  Anne  wistfully. 

""Pis  possible,  yet  he  will  not  leave  London  until 
that  event  be  accomplished." 

"Dost  thou  expect  that  he  will  come  for  me  him- 
self?" cried  the  maiden,  her  cheeks  aflame. 

Lady  Devon  laughed  mischievously.  "We  shall 
soon  learn,"  she  answered;  "in  a  fortnight  more 
methinks  thy  doubts  shall  end  most  happily." 

"Will  it  be  so  long?"  and  Anne  sighed  so  gloom- 
ily that  the  countess  sprang  up  and  gave  her  a  play- 
ful little  shake,  mingled  with  many  kisses.  "Thou 
impatient  child!"  she  exclaimed.  "Throughout  the 
long  winter  thou  hast  been  contented,  yet  now  thou 
wilt  not  wait  in  peace  for  a  few  days." 

Anne  joined  in  her  laughter,  and  was  about  to 
give  a  merry  answer  when  the  sound  of  a  horn 
made  both  ladies  start  and  listen  intently.  The 
sweet,  merry  notes  rang  out  again,  and  a  great  com- 
motion followed  in  the  courtyard  below.  The  coun- 
tess sprang  upon  a  bench,  and  peered  through  a  high 
window.  "Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "a  great  body  of 
horse,  and  the  men  in  fine  array.  I'  faith,  I  do  be- 
lieve they  are  of  the  King's  guard.  Run,  maiden," 
she  cried  to  Anne,  who  stood  below,  fairly  trembling 
with  excitement,  "run  and  don  thy  choicest  gar- 
ments, then  come  to  the  great  hall.  Away — make 
haste!" 


310         Every  Inch  a  King 

Lady  Stafford  darted  from  the  room  as  if  her  feet 
were  wings,  and  Eleanor,  after  one  more  peep  from 
the  window,  dismounted  from  her  perch  and  hur- 
ried to  her  own  chamber. 

In  a  surprisingly  short  space  of  time  the  earl  and 
his  wife,  richly  arrayed,  and  surrounded  by  their 
ladies  and  esquires,  had  taken  their  places  upon  the 
dais  of  the  great  dining  hall.  To  the  countess's  in- 
tense anxiety  Anne  had  not  appeared,  and  she  was 
about  to  send  a  messenger  to  summon  her,  when  the 
doors  were  thrown  wide  and  the  steward  an- 
nounced :  "The  Lord  Earl  of  March !" 

Eleanor  started  and  caught  her  breath.  The  hour 
so  long  awaited  was  already  here.  Her  brother! 
The  lover  of  Lady  Anne!  She  gazed  at  him  with 
intense  eagerness.  He  was  dressed  as  richly  as  a 
prince,  in  royal  purple  velvet,  trimmed  with  ermine, 
the  white  satin  lining  of  his  cloak  making  a  striking 
background  for  his  handsome  figure.  He  came  for- 
ward proudly,  his  head  held  high,  his  manner  full  of 
dignity.  Behind  him  stood  half  a  score  of  officers, 
among  them  Captain  Derrbury,  who  attended  him  as 
his  esquires.  "Thou  must  be  furnished  royally,"  the 
King  had  told  him  when  he  protested  against  the 
generous  arrangements  of  his  sovereign.  "When 
thou  canst,  thou  shalt  have  thine  own  livery  and  ser- 
vants. Meanwhile,  thou  shalt  use  mine.  Shall  I 
send  thee  with  a  few  mean  followers  to  escort  thy 
bride?" 

Every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  gallant  earl,  and 


Every  Inch  a  King         311 

many  a  woman's  heart  beat  faster  as  he  came  for- 
ward. Mortimer  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left,  but  straight  before  him.  The  Earl  of  Devon, 
feeling  although  not  seeing  his  near  approach,  ex- 
tended his  hand.  "Lord  March,  I  bid  thee  welcome 
to  Rougemont,"  he  said  graciously. 

"I  thank  your  lordship,"  answered  Edmund  dis- 
tinctly. "I  have  come,  my  lord,  at  the  command  of 
our  gracious  King  to  summon  thee  and  thy  countess 
to  his  coronation.  Tis  his  desire  that  the  highest 
of  the  land  shall  be  his  guests,  and  he  is  most  urgent 
that  ye  shall  not  say  him  nay." 

"Ah!"  quoth  my  Lord  Courtenay,  well  pleased, 
"we  thank  his  Highness,  and  shall  be  glad  to  con- 
form to  his  request.  Dost  thou  hear,  madam? 
Thou  shalt  accompany  me." 

For  once,  the  Lady  Eleanor  did  not  protest.  "I 
am  content,  my  lord,"  she  answered  happily.  Mor- 
timer turned  and  gave  her  a  searching  glance.  She 
was  not  beautiful,  as  he  had  hoped.  Indeed,  for  an 
instant  he  was  greatly  disappointed ;  but  now,  as  she 
raised  her  eyes,  and  shyly,  yet  with  heartfelt  ear- 
nestness, said  softly:  "Brother,  it  doth  rejoice  my 
heart  to  welcome  thee,"  he  quite  forgot  her  plainness 
and  remembered  only  that  she  was  his  sister;  and 
bending,  pressed  a  fervent  kiss  upon  her  hand  as  he 
answered, — "Madam,  I  have  much  for  which  to 
thank  thee,  and  words  cannot  convey  my  gratitude. 
Prithee,  how  doth  the  Lady  Anne  of  Stafford  ?" 

Eleanor's  face  was  brightened  by  so  brilliant  a 


312          Every  Inch  a  King 

smile  that  Edmund's  heart  went  out  to  her  in  that 
moment.  She  was  silent  for  an  instant,  gazing  into 
his  eager  eyes,  then  she  answered  with  a  rippling 
laugh,  "Thine  eyes  can  answer  thee  more  fully  than 
my  lips.  Turn,  brother,  and  behold." 

The  earl  whirled  around  and  stood  transfixed. 
The  Lady  Anne  had  entered  the  great  hall  and 
was  moving  calmly  forward,  accompanied  by  six 
ladies-of-honor.  Dressed  in  pale  yellow  satin,  her 
long  train  edged  with  rich  fur,  her  sleeves  falling  to 
the  ground,  her  waist,  embroidered  with  jewels,  cut 
square  to  show  the  white  neck,  and  her  fair  hair 
half  hidden  by  the  veil  which  fell  in  graceful  folds 
from  her  headdress, — she  was  the  picture  of  a 
haughty  court  beauty,  moving  with  head  erect  and 
stately  step.  But  suddenly  she  saw  Lord  Mortimer, 
and  glad  recognition  flashed  in  her  eyes;  color 
flamed  to  her  cheeks,  her  proud  head  was  lowered, 
her  feet  faltered,  and  she  stood  still,  amazed,  con- 
fused, and  trembling. 

One  instant's  hesitation,  then  with  eager  foot- 
steps and  blazing  eyes,  which  betrayed  his  story  to 
every  person  present,  the  Earl  of  March  swiftly 
crossed  the  hall  and  sank  upon  one  knee  before  the 
lady.  "Sweetheart,"  he  whispered,  "hast  thou  no 
welcome  for  me?"  Her  eyes  met  his  timidly,  then 
bravely.  Passionately  he  kissed  her  fair  white  hand. 
"Rise,  my  lord,"  she  murmured. 

"My  ring  is  still  upon  thy  hand,"  he  said ;  "I  have 


Every  Inch  a  King         313 

come  to  claim  thee  as  my  bride.  Wilt  thou  go  with 
me,  Anne  Stafford?" 

"Ay,  my  lord,  with  all  my  heart  am  I  content  to 
go,"  she  answered  him,  and  the  look  in  her  eyes  was 
sweeter  than  her  words. 

He  rose  and  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to 
where  the  countess  stood  watching  them  with  tear- 
dimmed  eyes.  "Fair  sister,"  said  the  earl,  "thou 
hast  kept  this  maiden  for  me  throughout  these  many 
months.  I  thank  thee  for  the  kindness  thou  hast 
shown  her,  and  now  I  ask  that  thou  wilt  give  her 
unto  me." 

The  Lady  Devon  took  Anne  in  her  arms  and  kissed 
her  tenderly.  Then  she  placed  her  hand  in  Mor- 
timer's, saying,  "Take  her,  my  brother,  and  see  that 
thou  prove  thyself  worthy  of  so  precious  a  posses- 
sion." 

Several  hours  later  the  lovers  were  alone  together. 
The  lady  was  sitting  upon  a  marble  bench,  while 
Mortimer  reclined  upon  some  cushions  at  her  feet. 
They  had  been  silent  for  a  space,  their  thoughts 
meeting  in  sweet  sympathy,  then  the  earl  said, — 
"Thou  hast  asked  me  many  questions  of  my  past, 
but  nothing  of  our  future.  Dost  thou  not  fear  to 
wed  a  penniless,  untitled  man?" 

"Art  thou  indeed  penniless?"  she  asked  him 
gravely;  then  touching  his  cloak,  she  added  with  a 
shy  laugh,  "Thou  art  not  arrayed  like  a  destitute 
man,  my  lord,  and  thy  gallant  esquires  and  hosts  of 


314         Every  Inch  a  King 

servants — do  they  accompany  one  without  wealth 
or  rank?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "To-day  I  am  the 
King's  messenger  sent  to  summon  the  Lord  of 
Devon  unto  the  coronation  feast.  It  was  necessary 
that  I  should  appear  worthy  of  my  mission.  But 
to-morrow, — "  he  gazed  into  her  eyes  longingly. 
"My  sweet,"  he  said,  "in  thy  shining  garments  thou 
shouldst  occupy  the  honored  place  at  the  King's 
table,  and  can  I  dare  to  dream  that  for  my  sake  thou 
wouldst  give  up  the  gay  life  at  the  court  to  follow 
so  unworthy  a  man  as  I  ?" 

"Thou  meanest  that  thou  wilt  be  exiled?"  she 
asked  anxiously. 

He  seized  her  hand  passionately.  "Wouldst  thou 
go  with  me,  lady?" 

Her  eyes  fell,  and  her  lips  trembled  a  little.  "I 
like  not  the  thought  of  exile,"  she  answered  sadly. 
He  released  her  hand. 

"My  wife  must  follow  me,"  he  answered  gravely. 
"She  must  share  my  sorrows  and  comfort  my  dis- 
tress. If  I  am  doomed  to  be  a  banished  man,  her 
happiness  should  consist  in  being  with  me." 

He  had  turned  his  face  away,  but  now  an  eager 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder  and  a  sweet  voice 
said  hurriedly:  "My  lord,  dost  thou  doubt  my 
love?  In  truth,  I  do  not  desire  exile,  but  could  I  be 
happy  in  the  highest  place  unless  thou  wert  by  my 
side  ?  AK,  my  dear  lord,  I  am  ready  to  go  anywhere, 


Every  Inch  a  King         315 

even  into  the  great  unknown  realm  of  death,  so  thou 
wilt  but  be  with  me." 

He  looked  at  her, — her  eyes  were  full  of  wistful 
tears,  but  such  a  love  shone  forth  that  suddenly  he 
seized  her  in  his  arms  and  rapturously  kissed  her 
lips.  "My  bride!"  he  murmured,  as  she,  blushing 
and  quivering  like  a  frightened  bird,  yet  clung  to 
him  as  if  content  at  last. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said  gravely,  looking  into  her 
eyes,  "I  sought  but  to  know  the  full  depth  of  thy 
love.  Dost  thou  believe  that  I  would  ask  thee  to 
share  so  wretched  an  existence?  Nay,  I  am  far  too 
unworthy  of  thee,  even  were  I  a  prince;  and  yet  I 
cannot  give  thee  up,"  he  cried  passionately. 

"Indeed  thou  canst  not,"  she  answered  with  a 
joyful  laugh,  "however  much  thou  mightest  desire 
it,  thy  only  choice  is  now  to  marry  me." 

What  he  answered  only  she  could  hear,  but  the 
blushes  chased  each  other  over  her  cheeks  and  neck, 
and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  tender  joy. 

"Nay,  lady,"  he  said  presently,  "when  thou  wed- 
dest  me,  thou  dost  wed  the  Earl  of  March.  The 
King  received  me  as  his  honored  friend;  placed  me 
at  his  right  hand  at  meat,  and  did  show  such  kind- 
ness to  me  that  the  greatest  nobles  of  the  court  did 
welcome  me  with  graciousness.  My  title  and  my 
lands  are  all  restored,  and  Lady  March  shall  never 
lack  for  honor.  Wilt  thou  be  happy,  dearest  ?" 

"F  faith,  my  lord,  methinks  my  cup  is  full  to  over- 
flowing. Will  there  be  no  blot  upon  my  joy  ?" 


316         Every  Inch  a  King 

"None  except  myself,"  he  answered  humbly.  But 
she  put  her  pure  white  arms  about  his  neck,  and 
looking  into  his  deep  eyes,  whispered  softly :  "Ed- 
mund, my  husband,  without  thee  my  life  were  dark 
and  cheerless.  Thou  alone  dost  make  it  into 
Heaven." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"The  road  shall  blossom,  the  road  shall  bloom, 
So  fair  a  bride  shall  leave  her  home ; 
Shall  blossom  and  bloom  with  garlands  gay, 
So  fair  a  bride  shall  pass  by  to-day." 

THE  day  before  the  coronation  had  at  last  arrived, 
and  never  had  the  English  court  presented  a  more 
brilliant  assemblage  of  lords  and  ladies.  From  the 
four  corners  of  the  kingdom  the  nobility  had  gath- 
ered to  witness  the  impressive  ceremonies  and  par- 
take of  the  sumptuous  feasts. 

Among  others  whose  presence  Henry  had  particu- 
larly requested  was  Madam  Bourchier,  who  still 
retained  her  former  title  of  Countess  of  Stafford, 
and  she  was  accompanied  not  only  by  her  son  Hum- 
phrey, the  earl,  a  handsome  boy,  who,  in  later  years, 
was  to  become  the  first  Duke  of  Buckingham,  but 
also  by  her  husband,  William  Bourchier,  a  man  of 
gentle  and  submissive  demeanor,  but  who  was  to 
prove  his  bravery  in  the  French  wars  and  win  there 
the  proud  title  of  the  Earl  of  Ewe.  The  King  had 
been  informed  that  certain  persons  whose  arrival  he 
had  been  anxiously  expecting  were  already  within 
the  palace,  so  when  the  three  were  presented  he 
greeted  them  most  graciously,  and  instead  of  per- 
mitting them  to  mingle  with  the  gay  throng  detained 
them  in  earnest  conversation. 


3 1  8         Every  Inch  a  King 

"Is  this  thy  son's  first  appearance  at  court?"  he 
asked  the  mother,  gazing  kindly  into  the  lad's  big 
eyes. 

"Ay,  my  liege,"  she  answered,  "during  the  long 
winter  he  has  been  my  chief  comfort  and  companion 
since  my  daughter  so  cruelly  deserted  me." 

"Call  her  not  cruel,  madam,"  Henry  exclaimed 
hastily,  "didst  thou  not  separate  her  from  thee  by 
placing  her  in  the  Minories  ?" 

"True,  my  liege,  but  to  keep  me  in  this  wretched 
ignorance  of  her  welfare  was  most  unfilial.  My 
heart  has  been  heavy  with  doubts  and  fears  these 
many  months." 

"Thy  anxiety  was  natural  and  most  commend- 
able, madam,  yet  thou  hadst  the  assurance  of 
Michael  de  la  Pole  for  her  safety." 

The  lady  started.  "How  knowest  thou  this,  my 
liege?" 

"I  saw  the  letter  writ,"  answered  Henry  calmly. 

The  countess  trembled  with  excitement  and  dis- 
may as  the  memory  of  the  Queen's  charges  surged 
through  her  brain.  "How  now,  sire!"  she  de- 
manded almost  fiercely,  "what  shall  I  think  of  this  ? 
Dost  thou  know  where  my  daughter  Anne  is  hid?" 

Henry  gave  a  swift  glance  around  the  hall,  then 
lowering  his  voice,  answered  rapidly, — "Madam,  I 
must  pray  thy  forgiveness,  for  'twas  I  who  took  her 
from  the  convent.  She  was  beloved  by  a  noble  lord 
and  I  was  not  content  that  she  should  become  a  nun. 
I  implore  thee,  by  thine  own  wedded  happiness,  do 


Every  Inch  a  King         319 

not  refuse  to  grant  the  boon  that  my  friend  will  ask 
of  thee; — "  and  before  the  bewildered  lady  could 
grasp  the  meaning  of  these  hurried  words  the  King 
had  stepped  forward  to  welcome  his  latest  guests, 
and  Humphrey,  with  a  startled  cry  of  "Sister 
Anne!"  had  rushed  past  him  and  literally  thrown 
himself  into  the  blushing  maiden's  arms. 

If  certain  members  of  the  astonished  court  looked 
deeply  shocked  at  so  grave  a  breach  of  etiquette, 
Henry  himself  appeared  to  greatly  enjoy  the  con- 
fused scene.  He  greeted  the  Earl  and  Countess  of 
Devon  most  cordially,  and  the  look  of  gratitude 
which  he  bestowed  upon  the  latter  repaid  her  richly 
for  all  that  she  had  done.  Then  as  Lady  Anne  ad- 
vanced, her  brother  still  clinging  to  her  rapturously, 
the  King  bent  low  over  her  hand  and  exclaimed  gal- 
lantly,— "Ah,  fairest  lady,  there  be  many  here  who 
envy  thy  happy  brother,  and  wish  that  they  might 
follow  his  example."  Turning  to  the  Countess  of 
Stafford,  who  had  stood  speechless  and  astounded 
during  these  rapid  events,  Henry  led  Anne  forward, 
saying  gently, — "Madam,  I  took  thy  daughter  from 
thee;  I  now  restore  her  unharmed  to  thy  care." 
An  instant  the  two  women  gazed  into  each  other's 
eyes;  then  with  a  little  cry  the  countess  held  out 
her  arms  and  Anne  buried  her  face  upon  her 
mother's  breast. 

The  young  monarch  turned  quickly  away  and 
flashed  at  Mortimer  a  brilliant  smile  of  welcome  and 
congratulation,  at  the  same  time  addressing  my 


320         Every  Inch  a  King 

Lord  Devon  most  graciously.  He  conversed  with 
the  earl  and  Lady  Eleanor  for  a  few  moments,  then 
once  more  approached  the  Lady  Stafford  and  pre- 
sented to  her  and  to  her  husband  Lord  Courtenay 
and  his  wife.  While  she  was  expressing  to  them 
her  gratitude  in  fervent  language — for  Anne  had 
hurriedly  told  her  of  their  great  kindness — Henry 
called  Mortimer  to  his  side.  "I  do  not  need  to  ask 
thee,  Edmund,  if  all  is  well  with  thee,"  he  said, 
"thine  eyes  betray  thy  happiness." 

"Oh,  my  lord,  never  was  man  happier,"  answered 
the  earl,  every  tone  of  his  voice  trembling  with  joy, 
and  his  eager  glance  constantly  wandering  to  where 
his  loved  one  stood,  "she  welcomed  me  with  such 
sweet  graciousness  that  methought  my  cup  of  hap- 
piness did  overflow.  My  liege,"  he  added  hurriedly, 
with  an  anxious  look,  "dost  thou  think  her  mother 
will  consent?" 

Henry  smiled  reassuringly.  "Do  not  let  thy 
courage  fail  thee,"  he  answered,  then  taking  Morti- 
mer by  the  hand,  he  brought  him  to  Lady  Stafford. 
When  she  saw  the  two  young  men  standing  before 
her,  the  one  in  his  sombre  robes  and  his  royal  air 
of  dignity, — the  other,  far  more  richly  dressed,  his 
fair,  youthful  face  full  of  eagerness,  his  eyes  im- 
ploring her  to  be  kind,  a  sudden  comprehension  of 
the  King's  words  flashed  to  her  mind  and  she  shot 
a  swift  glance  at  her  daughter,  who,  with  crimson 
cheeks  and  downcast  eyes,  stood  by  her  side. 

"Madam,"  said  the  King,  "this  is  my  cousin  and 


Every  Inch  a  King         321 

dear  friend,  the  Earl  of  March."  She  raised  her 
eyes  and  gave  him  a  searching  glance  as  she  uttered 
a  few  words  of  greeting. 

The  earl  met  her  gaze  fairly  and  frankly. 
"Madam,"  he  said,  marvelling  in  his  own  mind  that 
his  voice  was  so  clear  and  steady,  "I  have  loved  thy 
daughter  for  two  long  years.  My  gracious  lord  and 
sovereign,  knowing  my  heart,  wooed  her  for  me 
while  I  was  yet  a  prisoner,  and  for  my  sake  did  take 
her  from  the  convent.  And  now  that,  by  his  good- 
ness, I  am  free  and  restored  to  my  title  and  fair 
estates,  I  pray  thee,  give  me  Lady  Anne  to  be  my 
wife." 

The  countess  looked  from  his  handsome,  eager 
face  to  her  blushing  daughter.  Anne  raised  her  eyes 
and  gave  her  mother  one  swift,  appealing  glance, 
then  turned  with  a  rare  smile  to  her  lover.  The 
countess  saw  that  smile,  and  the  knowledge  of  her 
own  happiness  brought  a  mist  to  her  eyes.  She 
glanced  questioningly  toward  Bourchier,  and  when 
that  gentleman,  amused  yet  gratified  by  her  unusual 
appeal  for  his  opinion,  said  quickly,  "Prithee  grant 
them  their  desire,"  she  hesitated  no  longer,  but  tak- 
ing Anne's  right  hand  placed  it  in  the  earl's,  saying 
brokenly,  "Take  her,  my  lord,  and  may  God  bless 
you  both."  And  when  the  earl  tried,  in  his  great  hap- 
piness, to  thank  her  for  this  priceless  gift,  and  Anne 
seized  her  hand  and  pressed  it  fervently,  King 
Henry  quietly  moved  away  and,  mingling  with  his 
courtiers,  smilingly  said,  "Ye  must  congratulate  the 


322          Every  Inch  a  King 

Earl  of  March,  my  lords;  he  hath  won  the    Lady 

Anne  of  Stafford  for  his  bride." 

******* 

That  night  the  impressive  ceremony  of  conferring 
the  order  of  knighthood  took  place  in  the  great  hall 
of  Westminster.  The  candidates,  after  having  per- 
formed the  required  ablutions,  were  robed  in  long 
green  coats  lined  with  miniver,  and  having  upon 
their  left  shoulders  a  double  cord  of  white  silk  with 
pendent  tufts.  Among  them,  to  his  great  delight, 
was  Mortimer;  and  when  he  found  himself  actually 
being  created  Knight  of  the  Bath,  he  felt  that 
Henry's  kindness  was  indeed  without  limit.  The 
usual  feast  followed  the  ceremonies,  but  the  King  did 
not  partake  of  it.  Indeed,  the  young  monarch,  greatly 
to  the  surprise  of  many  of  his  court,  was  determined 
that  every  ceremony  should  be  marked  by  great  sim- 
plicity. His  father  had  conferred  the  order  of 
knighthood  in  the  Tower,  his  ride  to  London  and 
back  being  a  grand  and  triumphal  procession;  but 
Henry  the  Fifth  would  have  none  of  such  display. 
"My  father  is  scarce  cold  within  his  grave,"  he  said 
to  certain  of  the  nobility  who  remonstrated  with 
him.  "Shall  I  deck  myself  with  brilliant  colors  and 
rejoice  that  I  am  to  be  the  King?"  And  Henry's 
wish  prevailed,  even  on  the  day  of  coronation. 

Passion  Sunday,  the  Qth  of  April,  1413,  dawned 
dark  and  threatening,  and  as  the  morning  advanced 
the  storm  and  wind  increased.  Many  were  the 
prophecies  occasioned  by  this  gloomy  weather,  but 


Every  Inch  a  King         323 

Henry  was  undaunted  by  the  elements.  He  arose 
early  and  confessed  himself,  then  proceeded  to  the 
chapel,  where  three  masses  were  celebrated.  Mean- 
while the  Abbey  had  been  crowded  by  nobles  and 
their  ladies,  and  there  were  also  present  certain  of 
the  most  important  gentry.  Presently  the  great 
procession  entered  the  sacred  building,  the  bishops 
and  priests  leading,  followed  by  the  King,  whose 
sombre  garments  were  in  striking  contrast  to  the 
scarlet  robes,  mantles  and  hoods  of  ermine,  and 
golden  coronets  worn  by  the  great  nobles  in  his 
train. 

The  solemn  rite  of  consecration  was  administered 
by  Archbishop  Arundel,  and  then  Henry,  as  head  of 
the  English  Church,  was  vested  in  a  bishop's  robes, 
and  finally  the  crown  of  St.  Edward  the  Confessor 
was  placed  upon  his  head.  These  ceremonies  being 
concluded,  the  young  King  addressed  those  who  were 
gathered  to  witness  his  coronation  in  a  speech  so 
dignified  and  noble  in  purpose,  that  all  who  listened 
were  filled  with  wonder  and  delight.  Those  prin- 
ciples which  had  so  amazed  and  rejoiced  his  cour- 
tiers he  now  declared  to  the  world,  and  the  prom- 
ises which  he  there  made  to  his  people  were  faithfully 
fulfilled. 

The  great  nobles  left  the  Abbey,  and  went  to  the 
dining-hall  of  the  palace — where  a  most  elaborate 
banquet  was  spread — discussing  with  earnestness 
and  enthusiasm  the  appearance  and  speech  of  the 
young  King;  and  never  was  a  monarch's  health 


324         Every  Inch  a  King 

drunk  with  greater  joy.  But  Henry  himself  went 
quietly  to  his  own  chamber;  and,  refusing  to  take 
any  part  in  the  rejoicing,  he  spent  the  remainder  of 
that  memorable  day  in  solitude  and  prayer. 

Three  weeks  later,  however,  occurred  an  event  in 
which  the  King  took  a  most  prominent  part,  for  the 
first  time  appearing  in  royal  raiment  and  allowing 
himself  to  enter  thoroughly  into  the  pleasures  of  the 
occasion. 

Mortimer,  impatient  for  the  consummation  of  his 
happiness,  had  used  every  argument  to  hasten  his 
wedding.  The  countess  finding,  to  her  amazement, 
that  all  preparations  had  been  made  for  her  daugh- 
ter's marriage,  could  offer  no  opposition,  and  so  the 
day  was  speedily  determined  upon. 

The  Bishop  of  Winchester,  seeing  how  sincere 
a  friendship  existed  between  the  young  earl  and  the 
King,  and  being  anxious  to  please  his  royal  nephew, 
proposed  to  give  the  marriage  banquet  at  his  palace. 
His  offer  was  gratefully  accepted,  and  upon  a  beau- 
tiful day  in  early  May,  when  Nature  had  donned  her 
choicest  garments,  a  brilliant  company  assembled  in 
St.  Saviour's  Church. 

The  noble  birth  and  modest  bearing  of  the  young 
earl,  and  the  beauty  and  wealth  of  the  fair  lady,  had 
caused  the  young  couple  to  be  regarded  with  a  very 
general  interest,  which  was  intensified  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  their  romantic  story.  Any  doubts  which 
might  have  still  existed  as  to  the  lady's  feelings  for 
the  King  were  entirely  dispelled  by  her  very  appar- 


Every  Inch  a  King         325 

ent  love  for  Lord  March.  The  account  of  the 
Prince's  wooing  fully  explained  what  had  once 
looked  so  strange,  and  not  only  was  Lady  Anne 
completely  vindicated,  but  all  the  members  of  the 
court,  including  the  widowed  Queen  herself,  felt 
impelled  to  show  their  sorrow  for  their  past  injustice 
by  bestowing  upon  the  fair  young  bride  every  pos- 
sible honor  and  attention.  Therefore,  the  famous 
church  was  crowded  with  the  noblest  of  the  land, 
one  and  all  arrayed  in  their  richest  and  most  splen- 
did raiment. 

Never  had  the  Lady  of  Stafford  looked  more 
beautiful  than  in  her  white  robes,  her  hair  falling 
loose  about  her  shoulders,  and  her  features  hidden  by 
the  long  silken  veil  upon  which  she  had  labored  for 
so  many  happy  hours.  At  the  church  door  the  bridal 
party  were  met  by  the  bishop,  and  there  the  beautiful 
betrothal  service  took  place,  the  King  himself  giv- 
ing the  bride  away.  Then  they  advanced  to  the  altar 
and  the  bishop  solemnly  declared  them  man  and 
wife. 

After  the  ceremony  Henry  led  the  Lady  March 
to  the  great  marriage  feast,  prepared  with  a  truly 
royal  splendor,  and  when  all  were  in  their  places  he 
raised  his  goblet  and  cried  out, — "Drink,  lords  and 
ladies,  to  our  cousin  and  dear  friend,  the  Earl  of 
March,  and  to  his  beautiful  and  noble  bride!"  And 
amid  cheers  which  made  the  stately  palace  tremble, 
the  guests  placed  the  red  wine  to  their  lips  and  drank 
the  toast. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"Nay,  but  the  man  that  was  his  bedfellow, 
Whom  he  hath  dull'd  and  cloy'd  with  gracious  favors — 
That  he  should,  for  a  foreign  purse,  so  sell 
His  sovereign's  life  to  death  and  treachery !" 

HENRY  V. 

BARON  SCROPE  of  Masham  had  been  present  at 
both  the  coronation  and  the  wedding,  and  Henry 
had  treated  him  with  such  kindness  that  the  court 
supposed  him  still  a  dearly  beloved  friend  of  the 
young  monarch.  Scrope  himself  was  entirely  puz- 
zled by  his  situation.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that 
Henry  was  still  ignorant  of  his  treachery  in  the 
council,  yet  the  baron  occupied  as  honored  a  place 
as  if  he  had  been  absolutely  true.  His  vanity  pre- 
vented his  realizing  that  in  the  momentous  events 
following  Bolingbroke's  death  the  nobles  had  other 
matters  to  discuss  which  far  exceeded  in  importance 
the  ambiguous  conduct  of  the  former  treasurer.  On 
the  other  hand,  his  suspicious  nature  could  not  com- 
prehend that  spirit  of  absolute  trust  which  was  so 
beautiful  a  part  of  the  King's  character.  That 
Henry  had  never  once  doubted  him  seemed  beyond 
belief;  and  the  baron,  searching  for  an  explanation, 
decided  that  a  deep  motive  must  underlie  the  King's 
conduct — that  he  was  to  be  treated  with  great  kind- 
ness and  raised  to  mighty  heights,  only  to  fall  the 
farther  in  the  end. 


Every  Inch  a  King         327 

Cruel  and  unscrupulous  himself,  Scrope  vowed  to 
frustrate  the  expected  revenge  of  his  royal  master. 
He  made  his  plans  deliberately,  and  then  bent  all  his 
energy  toward  their  execution.  It  must  be  his  ruin 
or  the  King's ;  and  he  would  fight  to  the  very  death ! 

When  the  young  King  had  appeared  for  the  first 
time  before  the  court,  and  had  appointed  the  Earl  of 
Arundel  his  treasurer,  the  baron  believed  that  all 
had  been  discovered  and  that  he  would  receive  his 
richly  deserved  punishment.  Henry's  reference  to 
France  he  had  instantly  construed  as  a  decree  of  ban- 
ishment, and  had  the  King  been  of  a  suspicious 
nature,  or  the  hour  less  filled  with  engrossing  inci- 
dents, Scrope's  exclamation, — "Am  I  exiled  for 
life?"  would  have  betrayed  him.  But  Henry,  recall- 
ing the  occurrence,  thought  that  the  baron,  after 
being  deprived  of  his  high  place  in  council,  might 
easily  misunderstand  his  own  hasty  words,  and  other 
and  more  important  matters  quickly  drove  this 
memory  from  the  royal  mind. 

Knowing  well  what  treatment  he  deserved,  no 
amount  of  kindness  upon  the  King's  part  could  con- 
vince Scrope  that  he  was  safe  from  Henry's  ven- 
geance; and  while  the  King's  gracious  words, 
making  him  the  chief  ambassador  upon  a  most 
important  foreign  mission,  still  rang  in  his  ears,  the 
baron's  brain  was  busied  with  the  thought  of  how 
he  could  yet  ruin  the  man  he  had  grown  to  hate. 

The  announcement  that  Mortimer  would  be 
set  at  liberty  had,  in  a  flash,  shown  him  the  one 


328         Every  Inch  a  King 

spot  where  he  could  strike  at  the  King;  but  even  as 
this  idea  came  to  him,  a  sudden  memory  of  the  scene 
in  the  young  earl's  apartment,  when  he  had  borne 
Arundel's  letters  to  the  Prince,  warned  him  that  he 
must  proceed  with  caution.  Apparently  the  two 
young  men  had  been  on  terms  of  friendship; — in 
that  case  Mortimer,  upon  being  set  at  liberty  and 
restored  to  his  estates,  would  not  be  prepared  im- 
mediately to  conspire  against  the  King.  In  a  few 
months,  however,  he  would  doubtless  be  ready  to 
demand  the  throne. 

But  Henry's  words  indicated  that  the  French 
mission  must  be  executed  with  all  despatch,  and 
Scrope  determined  to  choose  such  men  for  his  com- 
panions as  would  best  assist  him  to  accomplish  his 
own  purposes.  What  names  should  he  propose 
upon  the  morrow? 

Going  to  his  chamber,  he  spent  many  hours  in 
thought,  reviewing  in  his  mind  the  various  noble- 
men of  the  court.  Among  the  knights,  no  one 
semed  more  suitable  than  Sir  Thomas  Grey  of 
Northumberland.  He  was  proud,  hot-spirited,  an 
excellent  swordsman,  and  a  devoted  follower  of  the 
disgraced  House  of  Percy,  Earls  of  Northumber- 
land. His  influence  would  win  to  the  cause  he 
espoused  the  chief  men  of  the  northern  part  of  Eng- 
land, and  possibly,  through  his  friendship  with  the 
banished  son  of  Hotspur,  Scotland  itself  might  give 
them  aid. 


Every  Inch  a  King         329 

As  Scrope  considered  these  possibilities,  a  con- 
tented smile  played  about  his  lips.  Ay,  Grey  should 
accompany  him!  Who  else? 

A  sudden  daring  idea  came  to  the  baron.  Why 
not  choose  a  man  of  even  higher  rank  than  himself  ? 
Henry  had  not  limited  his  choice.  Suppose — and 
Scrope's  cheek  grew  hot  with  excitement — suppose 
he  suggested  one  of  the  blood  royal!  But  no — he 
dared  not  trust  a  brother  of  the  King — if  one  of  the 
young  princes  rebelled  'twould  be  for  his  own  sake, 
and  not  to  elevate  the  House  of  Mortimer.  But  there 
was  the  Duke  of  York,  descended  from  a  younger 
brother  of  John  of  Gaunt — would  he  join  their  con- 
spiracy? Alas!  he  was  a  strong  man,  and  full  of 
gratitude  toward  the  young  King  who  had  been 
most  kind  to  him — was  there  a  man  in  England 
toward  whom  he  had  not  shown  kindness?  thought 
the  baron  angrily.  No,  Edmund  of  York  would  not 
rebel,  even  to  win  the  throne  for  himself!  There 
was  no  one,  then  ? — stay !  Richard  of  Conisborough, 
the  very  man !  A  younger  brother  of  York,  he  was 
weak  and  jealous,  ever  ready  to  turn  against  even 
his  dearest  friends.  And  he  had  married  Anne  Mor- 
timer, the  earl's  sister !  But  she  had  lately  died,  and 
he  had  just  wedded  Maud,  Lord  Clifford's  daughter. 
Would  he  fight  for  the  brother  of  his  former  wife? 
A  sudden  evil  gleam  shone  in  the  baron's  eyes.  Had 
not  rumor  said  that  Richard  had  killed  his  wife  by 
coldness  and  faithlessness?  And  was  it  not  now 


330         Every  Inch  a  King 

reported  that  he  was  filled  with  remorse,  and  almost 
hated  the  new  lady  of  Conisborough  ?  Ah,  he  would 
stir  that  remorse  to  fiery  heat!  In  memory  of  the 
wronged  Lady  Anne,  my  lord  should  use  his  sword 
to  help  their  cause! 

The  next  morning  Scrope  went  to  the  King  and 
proposed  these  two  names.  Henry  was  delighted. 
"Excellent,  my  lord.  I  had  desired  to  honor  my 
cousin  Richard.  I  will  create  him  Earl  of  Cam- 
bridge before  ye  do  depart.  Is  not  the  knight  a 
friend  of  the  House  of  Percy?" 

"Ay,  my  liege;  if  thou  canst  win  his  support  by 
thy  favor  it  will  be  well." 

The  King  smiled  thoughtfully.  "Ay,  baron,  that 
is  our  desire.  Henry  Percy  shall  be  recalled  from 
banishment  and  his  title  and  estates  restored  to  him ; 
and  we  must  so  honor  his  powerful  friends  and 
neighbors  that  every  one  shall  be  loyal  to  his  King." 

Scrope  was  considerably  alarmed  by  these  good 
intentions,  but  he  comforted  himself  with  the 
thought  that  he  would  have  several  months  in  which 
to  poison  the  minds  of  his  companions  during  their 
sojourn  in  a  foreign  land,  and  he  resolved  to  strike 
so  quickly  upon  their  return  to  court  that  no  new 
kindness  of  the  monarch  could  make  them  hesitate 
to  act  against  him. 

Of  what  happened  during  the  long  period  of  time 
which  the  ambassadors  spent  in  France  the  world 
knows  little.  Doubtless  they  executed  their  mission 


Every  Inch  a  King         331 

acceptably,  since  Henry  kept  them  there.  However, 
they  did  not  avert  a  war;  for  in  July,  1415,  the  Eng- 
lish forces,  led  by  the  greatest  nobles  of  the  land, 
assembled  at  Southampton  to  embark  for  France. 
Scrope  had  been  more  successful  in  his  plans  than  he 
had  dared  to  hope.  Both  Cambridge  and  Grey  were 
determined  to  put  Mortimer  upon  the  throne;  and 
the  baron  had  contrived  to  make  them  believe  that 
the  conspiracy  was  theirs,  and  that  he  himself  had 
only,  after  great  reluctance,  consented  to  join  them. 
He  was  still  daring  to  hope  that  should  they  fail  he 
could  escape  punishment.  Traitor  that  he  was, 
Scrope  skilfully  obtained  assistance  from  the 
French.  It  was  his  quiet  influence  which  secured 
from  certain  officials  the  offers  of  large  sums  of 
money  as  a  reward  for  delivering  the  English  King 
into  their  hands.  Cambridge  and  Grey  entered  into 
the  plan  with  great  enthusiasm — the  baron  did  not 
actually  pledge  his  word.  Perhaps  he  believed  that 
the  Frenchmen  would  not  kill  the  young  monarch, 
but  simply  hold  him  in  an  honorable  captivity — a 
situation  which  would  be  too  dangerous — for  Henry 
must  die  before  Mortimer  could  rule.  But  mean- 
time the  hope  of  the  foreign  gold  would  prevent 
Cambridge  and  Grey  from  abandoning  the  plot. 

In  another  direction  Scrope  had  failed  entirely. 
Through  his  allies — and  they  supposed  the  idea  to 
be  their  own — he  had  endeavored  to  have  Percy 
bring  over  a  Scottish  army, — "To  revenge  upon  the 
King  the  death  of  your  father  and  your  own  dis- 


332          Every  Inch  a  King 

grace."  But  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  returned 
a  spirited  answer. — The  King  had  restored  him  in 
blood  and  granted  him  his  titles  and  estates,  and 
was  even  then  arranging  with  the  Scottish  Govern- 
ment that  he  should  be  exchanged  for  that  royal 
prince,  Murdoch  Stuart,  son  of  the  Duke  of  Albany. 
Therefore  he  would  be  loyal  to  the  King  and  serve 
him  faithfully ! 

Percy  had  not  been  informed  of  the  conspiracy, 
which  was  fortunate  for  Scrope,  since  upon  the 
young  Earl's  final  arrival  in  England  he  at  once  as- 
sembled all  the  liegemen  of  his  house,  and,  marching 
with  them  to  Southampton,  threw  himself  at 
Henry's  feet  and  declared  that  he  and  his  followers 
were  prepared  to  fight  to  the  death  for  the  King, 
either  against  the  French,  "or  any  persons  whatso- 
ever who  are  your  Highness's  enemies." 

Henry  received  him  most  graciously,  and 
throughout  his  campaigns  Percy  was  one  of  his 
ablest  generals. 

The  English  army  was  to  sail  upon  the  226.  of 
July.  The  2ist  arrived,  and  at  last  the  conspirators 
could  no  longer  delay  making  their  plans  known  to 
the  Earl  of  March,  whom  they  had  decided  to  carry 
hastily  to  the  frontier  of  Wales,  and  there  to  pro- 
claim him  King  in  the  hope  that  the  discontented 
Welsh  would  rally  to  his  support. 

The  baron  would  not  risk  being  himself  present 
at  the  interview  with  March,  but  he  warned  Cam- 
bridge again  and  again  to  proceed  with  great  cau- 


Every  Inch  a  King         333 

tion  and  not  to  betray  their  plans  until  he  was  as- 
sured that  the  young  earl  would  give  them  his 
hearty  support.  Scrope  counted  upon  Mortimer's 
youth,  inexperience,  and  the  natural  desire  of  every 
man  for  power,  especially  when  it  is  his  by  right  of 
birth,  as  affording  sufficient  reason  for  the  earl's 
rebellion.  He  failed  to  comprehend  the  power  of 
those  qualities  of  gratitude  and  love  of  which  his 
own  nature  was  incapable,  yet  he  was,  nevertheless, 
uneasy  over  the  coming  interview.  His  cowardly 
desire  to  save  himself  at  any  risk  was  his  own  ruin. 
Had  he  been  present,  his  keen  knowledge  of  human 
nature  would  have  warned  him  that  Mortimer's 
calm  attentiveness  and  quiet  questions  were  no 
promise  of  support.  And  yet  Edmund  played  his 
part  so  well  that  he  might  even  have  won  in  a  con- 
test of  skill  with  the  baron.  Amazed  and  filled  with 
fury  at  the  proposition,  the  young  earl,  with  won- 
derful self-control,  forced  himself  to  listen  quietly 
at  first,  with  faint  protests  against  any  thought  of 
disloyalty,  then  to  betray  an  increasing  excitement 
and  interest  as  the  weak  and  impulsive  Cambridge 
unfolded  the  plot  before  him;  to  question  closely 
without  seeming  to  do  so ;  and  finally  to  exclaim, — 
"I  must  have  time,  my  lord,  to  consider  so  tremen- 
dous a  proposal  as  thou  hast  made ;  to-morrow, — to- 
night, thou  shalt  have  my  answer.  At  what  hour 
can  I  meet  you  all  ?" 

The  delighted  Cambridge  named    an  hour  and 
place,  and,  going  to  Scrope,  told  him  enthusiastically 


334         Every  Inch  a  King 

that  March  was  transported  by  the  plan  and  would 
meet  them  that  night  to  make  the  final  arrange- 
ments. The  baron  received  his  statement  doubt- 
fully ;  but  as,  in  answer  to  his  questions,  Cambridge 
described  the  young  earl's  manner,  even  he  appeared 
to  be  satisfied. 

Mortimer,  having  left  Cambridge's  apartments, 
went  to  his  own  chamber  and  briefly  told  his  wife 
what  had  occurred.  Anne  received  the  information 
with  breathless  wonder.  "They  would  make  thee 
King?"  she  cried,  trembling.  "Edmund,  hast  thou 
given  thy  consent?"  "I  have  as  yet  made  no  re- 
sponse," he  answered;  "but  to-«night  they  have  ap- 
pointed a  meeting  at  which  I  have  promised  to  give 
my  decision."  "And  then?"  she  asked,  clinging  to 
his  arm  and  searching  his  face  eagerly.  He  smiled 
into  her  anxious  eyes,  then  bent  and  kissed  her  ten- 
derly, as  he  answered,  "I  shall  pray  the  King  to 
allow  me  to  guide  his  soldiers  to  the  meeting  place 
and  to  arresl  them  for  high  treason."  "Thank 
God!"  she  cried.  "Ah,  my  Edmund,  how  could  I 
have  doubted  thee  even  for  a  moment."  "Thou  dost 
not  desire  to  be  Queen,  my  sweet  ?"  "Never  through 
treason,"  answered  the  Lady  Anne. 

The  King  was  in  his  chamber ;  several  of  his  gen- 
erals had  just  left  him,  and  he  was  alone.  Mortimer 
was  admitted,  and  the  door  was  closed. 


Two  hours  later,  Westmoreland,  Thomas  Beau- 


Every  Inch  a  King         335 

fort,  and  the  Earl  of  Nottingham  were  summoned 
to  the  royal  presence.  They  found  Henry  alone,  his 
face  white  and  very  stern.  "My  lords,"  he  said, 
keeping  his  voice  steady  only  by  a  great  effort,  "we 
learn  that  there  are  traitors  here  among  us.  Our 
late  ambassadors  to  France  have  conspired  against 
our  person  and  have  agreed  to  sell  us  to  our  enemies 
and  place  the  Earl  of  March  upon  the  throne.  Mor- 
timer has  this  day  learned  of  the  plot  and  has  in- 
formed us  of  it.  Go,  lords,  and  arrest  these  men 
and  bring  them  immediately  to  trial.  Our  departure 
for  France  must  be  delayed  until  this  matter  is  de- 
termined." 

The  astonished  noblemen  gazed,  speechless,  at  the 
King.  Henry  stood  for  a  moment,  grave  and  silent, 
then  suddenly  he  turned  and  sank  upon  a  bench,  cov- 
ering his  face  with  his  hands.  "My  God,"  he  cried 
in  agony,  "whom  can  I  trust  ?  Scrope  was  my  dear 
friend,  the  companion  of  my  youth,  the  man  to 
whom  I  have  shown  every  honor;  upon  whose  loy- 
alty I  would  have  staked  my  very  soul.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  he  is  false  ?" 

"What  proof  is  there,  my  liege  ?  March's  unsup- 
ported word  ?"  asked  Westmoreland. 

"Wouldst  have  me  doubt  this  other  friend,  Nev- 
ille?" demanded  the  King  sternly.  "Nay,  cousin,  he 
could  have  had  no  reason  to  torture  me  by  such  a 
wretched  tale.  Cambridge  betrayed  to  him  the  en- 
tire plan,  and  Scrope  was  hand  and  glove  with  his 
companions.  Yet  think  not  that  I  do  condemn 


336         Every  Inch  a  King 

them  without  a  hearing.  If  they  shall  utterly  deny 
the  charges,  and  at  their  trial  give  proof  of  inno- 
cence, we  will  restore  them  to  our  confidence." 

Thus  spoke  the  King,  but  there  was  no  hope  upon 
his  gloomy  face. 

The  nobles  departed  to  do  their  monarch's  bid- 
ding, and  the  news  of  the  arrests  startled  the  entire 
court.  Scrope  and  Grey  at  first  denied  their  guilt 
entirely ;  but  the  weak  Earl  of  Cambridge,  overcome 
with  fear,  made  a  complete  confession.  In  his  fury 
at  being  betrayed,  he  also  charged  Mortimer  with 
having  taken  an  active  part  in  the  conspiracy;  but 
Edmund's  account  was  too  circumstantial  to  allow 
the  slightest  doubt  of  him  to  enter  the  King's  mind. 
A  court  was  at  once  summoned  to  try  the  prisoners, 
and  the  evidence  against  Cambridge  and  Grey 
caused  them  to  be  immediately  declared  guilty  of 
high  treason.  Scrope  had  so  cunningly  concealed 
his  own  share  in  the  plot  that  he  was  convicted  sim- 
ply for  privity  in  the  conspiracy.  He  admitted  a 
"knowledge  of  the  general  scheme,"  but  denied  that 
he  had  known  of  any  attempt  against  Henry's  per- 
son, and  demanded  a  trial  by  his  peers. 

A  second  court,  composed  of  the  highest  nobles, 
and  presided  over  by  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  was 
summoned,  and  Cambridge  and  Scrope  appeared 
before  it.  The  proofs  of  guilt  were  even  stronger 
than  before,  and  on  the  5th  of  August  the  two  trai- 
tors were  condemned  to  death.  The  baron  saw  at 
last  that  there  was  no  hope  for  him,  but  even  in  his 


Every  Inch  a  King         337 

final  hour  he  perceived  how  he  could  still  cruelly 
hurt  the  King  he  could  not  ruin.  He  asked  permis- 
sion, for  the  sake  of  former  days,  to  speak  with  him 
alone.  The  nobles,  fearing  they  knew  not  what, 
tried  to  prevent  it,  but  Henry  consented  and  bade 
them  all  withdraw  to  the  farther  end  of  the  hall. 
And  then  Scrope,  looking  into  Henry's  eyes  boldly, 
with  his  hatred  no  longer  concealed,  told  the  simple 
story  of  his  long  endeavor  to  ruin  the  King.  "Thou 
hast  won,"  the  baron  cried  with  a  bitter  laugh,  "it 
is  but  right  that  thou  shouldst  know  thy  triumph." 

And  Henry  stood  and  listened  to  the  shameless 
words,  his  face  ashen,  his  eyes  appealing,  as  Scrope 
tore  the  mask  from  his  every  deed  and  showed  the 
King  how  utterly  blinded  he  had  been.  "Hold!" 
Henry  cried  at  last.  "Thou  art  surely  mad!  Art 
thou  incapable  of  shame  that  thou  canst  tell  me  this  ? 
Or  dost  thou  at  the  last  repent  thee  of  thy  sins  ?" 

"Repent!"  and  Scrope  gave  a  sharp,  scornful 
laugh.  "Repent?  Never!  I  go  to  my  death,  O 
King,  sorrowful  that  I  can  do  thee  no  further  in- 
jury. Thou  hast  conquered,  Henry,  for  I  die;  yet, 
while  thou  livest,  thou  canst  never  wholly  trust  an- 
other man!"  And  with  a  smile  of  triumphant  hatred 
upon  his  face  the  baron  turned,  rejoined  his  waiting 
guard,  and  was  led  forth  to  his  death. 

The  King  had  commanded  that  the  usual  proc- 
esses of  torture,  decreed  by  the  court's  sentence, 
should  be  omitted,  and  the  execution  of  the  three 
conspirators  was  speedily  accomplished.  For  the 


33 8         Every  Inch  a  King 

Earl  of  Cambridge  and  Grey  of  Northumberland 
the  punishment  was  merited,  but  sufficient.  Henry 
alone  knew  that  in  the  case  of  Baron  Scrope  of 
Masham  it  was  far  more  lenient  than  his  crimes 
deserved. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"O  love,  love,  love ! 

Love  is  like  a  dizziness ; 
It  winna'  let  a  poor  body 
Gang  about  his  business." 

HOGG. 

IN  the  year  fourteen  hundred  and  nineteen,  and 
the  month  of  May,  a  meeting  was  arranged  between 
Queen  Isabella  and  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  victorious  King  of  England  upon 
the  other. 

The  past  few  years  had  been  busy  ones  for  Henry 
of  Monmouth.  The  gradual  and  brilliant  conquest 
of  France  had  displayed  the  wonderful  qualities  of 
the  conqueror.  Brave  and  fearless,  the  leader  in 
every  battle,  and,  during  the  intervals  of  peace,  the 
wise  and  clement  ruler,  Henry  had  bound  his  own 
people  to  him  by  such  strong  ties  of  love  and  ad- 
miration that  never  once  during  his  glorious  reign 
did  the  formerly  restless  and  rebellious  Parliament 
fail  to  give  him  the  most  loyal  support,  and  to  will- 
ingly provide  him  with  the  necessary  funds  with 
which  to  carry  on  his  vast  enterprises. 

England  had  applauded  the  conquest  of  Harfleur ; 
it  had  gone  almost  wild  after  the  victory  of  Agin- 
court,  and  now  at  last,  weary  by  the  long  war,  John, 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  had  joined  with  the  French 


34°         Every  Inch  a  King 

Queen  in  offering  most  advantageous  terms  of  peace 
to  Henry.  One  of  the  victor's  chief  demands  was 
the  hand  of  Catherine  of  Valois  in  marriage,  and 
upon  the  morrow  the  Princess  was  to  appear  at  the 
conference  in  person.  The  reports  of  her  grace,  her 
modesty,  and  her  great  beauty  had  made  the  Eng- 
lish lords  both  curious  and  eager,  and  she  was  the 
one  topic  under  discussion  among  them,  the  question 
of  her  appearance  seeming  of  more  importance  than 
the  King's  acquisition  of  the  throne  of  France ! 

Upon  this  beautiful  May  evening  the  Earl  of 
March  left  his  tent,  and  passing  through  the  camp, 
wandered  down  to  the  bank  of  the  River  Seine, 
which  stretched  before  him,  glistening  like  silver  in 
the  moonlight.  A  passionate  lover  still,  Mortimer's 
chief  interest  in  the  momentous  meeting  lay  in  his 
hope  that  it  would  result  in  a  peace  which  would 
make  it  possible  for  him  to  be  once  more  with  Anne ; 
and  as  he  stood  gazing  into  the  cool  depths  of  the 
water,  his  thoughts  were  not  concerned  with  the 
Princess,  but  with  his  beloved  bride.  The  memories 
of  the  past  years  came  crowding  upon  him,  with 
their  constant,  sweet  joys,  and  his  heart  throbbed 
with  longing  as  the  tender,  wistful  face  of  his  wife 
rose  before  him  and  he  felt  again  in  imagination 
the  touch  of  her  lips  upon  his  own. 

An  approaching  footstep  roused  him  from  his 
revery,  and  turning  sharply,  his  sword  half  drawn, 
he  cried  out,  "Who  goes  there?" 

"Is  it  thou,  Edmund  ?"  asked  a  clear,  sweet  voice. 


Every  Inch  a  King         341 

The  earl  sprang  forward.  "Sire !  Your  Highness 
is  not  alone?" 

The  King  advanced  wrapped  in  a  long  riding- 
cloak,  which  concealed  both  face  and  figure  so  that 
one  might  have  supposed  him  a  common  soldier. 
"I  am  alone/'  he  answered,  "I  stole  secretly  from 
out  my  tent  that  I  might  pass  an  hour  in  solitude." 

Mortimer  hesitated  and  glanced  at  his  friend 
doubtfully.  "Shall  I  withdraw,  sire?"  he  asked. 
"Wilt  thou  be  in  safety?" 

Henry  smiled.  "I  have  my  good  sword,  but  go 
not,  Edmund,  for  to  thee,  dear  friend,  I  can  freely 
speak  my  thoughts."  He  extended  his  hand  and 
drew  the  earl  down  beside  him  upon  the  bank.  For 
a  space  they  sat  in  silence,  gazing  into  the  cool 
depths  of  the  river.  Then,  sighing,  Henry  asked  in 
low  tones,  "Hast  thou  ever  regretted,  Edmund,  thy 
marriage  with  Lady  Anne  ?" 

"Regretted  it!"  cried  Mortimer  earnestly.  "My 
liege,  every  day  and  hour  have  been  crowded  with 
happiness.  My  love  grows  deeper  with  each  pass- 
ing moon,  and  Anne  doth  fill  my  life  with  sweetest 
joy.  My  lord,  I  can  never  repay  thy  blessed  kind- 
ness in  giving  me  my  bride." 

The  King  seemed  scarcely  to  hear  this  eager 
speech,  but  pursuing  his  own  line  of  thought,  said 
slowly, — "Didst  thou  truly  love  her  before  thou 
hadst  spoken  with  her?" 

"Ay,  my  love  sprang  up  within  my  heart  when 
first  mine  eyes  beheld  her,"  answered  Mortimer, 


342          Every  Inch  a  King 

puzzled  by  the  question — surely  the  King  had  be- 
lieved in  his  passion  before  he  wooed  the  lady. 

A  long  silence  followed.  Then  Henry,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  said  in  a  low,  sad  tone,  "I  be- 
lieve that  could  I  wed  her  whose  face  I  love,  I,  even 
I,  the  King,  might  know  the  meaning  of  earthly 
happiness." 

The  earl  gave  a  start  and  tried  to  see  his  friend's 
averted  face.  "I  do  not  understand,"  he  muttered 
fearfully.  Henry  sighed  again,  then  answered 
gently,  "Hast  thou  forgot  the  night  that  I  came  to 
thy  chamber  and  showed  to  thee  my  precious  minia- 
ture?" 

Mortimer  leaned  forward  and  touched  the  King's 
arm.  "Canst  thou  mean,  my  liege,  that  thou  hast 
loved  throughout  these  busy  years  a  woman  whom 
thou  hast  never  even  seen  ?  Good  God !  Why  hast 
thou  not  sought  her  out  and  made  her  thy  true 
wife?" 

"And  Queen  of  England?"  asked  Henry  bitterly. 
"Wouldst  thou  have  thy  King  marry  beneath  his 
rank?  She  may  not  even  be  of  noble  birth,  and  I 
must  wed  with  royal  blood  alone!"  He  laughed 
shortly,  then  reached  out  and  seized  the  earl's  hand 
as  if  longing  for  a  touch  of  sympathy.  "Listen,"  he 
said,  in  low  and  trembling  tones.  "That  night  when 
I  did  tell  thee  of  my  love  methought  it  but  the  fancy 
of  a  moment  which  I  could  toss  aside  at  pleasure.  I 
then  expected  to  wed  the  daughter  of  Burgundy, 


Every  Inch  a  King         343 

and  when  the  alliance  was  broken,  I  allowed  myself 
to  gaze  often  upon  that  charming,  pictured  face.  I 
placed  the  maiden  foremost  in  my  heart  and  let  my 
love  for  her  uphold  my  courage,  strengthen  me 
amidst  my  cruel  trials,  and  be  the  inspiration  of  my 
life.  And  now/'  he  added,  rising  to  his  feet  and  be- 
ginning to  pace  the  ground  with  restless,  impatient 
steps,  "now  I  find  'tis  not  an  idle  fancy,  but  a  living, 
breathing  woman  whom  I  love!  I  curse  the  day  I 
fought  to  win  the  Princess — I  hate  to  hear  them 
praise  her  virtuous  beauty!  To-morrow  must  I 
meet  my  future  bride — and  I  cannot  force  myself 
to  destroy  the  miniature!" 

The  earl  sat  in  silence,  unable  to  find  any  words 
of  comfort,  while  Henry  paced  back  and  forth  in 
front  of  him,  his  hands  clinched,  his  under  lip 
caught  between  his  teeth,  and  his  head  thrown  back 
as  if  in  defiance  of  his  fate.  Suddenly  he  stopped 
before  his  friend,  and  in  low  tones  thrilling  with 
something  akin  to  horror,  exclaimed, — "Edmund, 
what  if  she  be  among  the  Princess's  ladies  ?" 

The  earl  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Impossible!"  he 
cried. 

"Nay,  most  possible,"  answered  Henry  gravely. 
"I  am  convinced  that  I  shall  see  the  maiden  upon  the 
morrow !" 

"It  may  be  thou  wilt  not  know  her,"  faltered  Mor- 
timer. 

"Dost  think  that  I  could  fail  to  recognize  the  face 
I  love?" 


344         Every  Inch  a  King 

"Perchance  she  will  disappoint  thee,  and — and 
destroy  thy  love,"  suggested  the  earl  despairingly. 

"Never !"  replied  the  King  in  so  confident  a  man- 
ner that  one  would  have  thought  he  expected  to  be 
happy  with  the  maiden  of  his  choice.  "I  shall  find 
her  all  that  I  have  dreamed — a  tender,  loving 
woman,  beautiful  and  noble,  worthy  of  the  greatest 
prince  in  Christendom.  And  I  can  never  tell  her  of 
my  love!" 

He  sank  upon  the  ground,  and  pulling  up  some 
long  grasses,  tore  them  in  bits.  "I  envy  the  fate  of 
that  young  monk !"  he  exclaimed. 

Mortimer's  face  grew  white.  "Sire,  thou — thou 
wilt  do  naught  unworthy  of  thy  place?"  he  pleaded 
brokenly. 

Henry  raised  his  head  and  sadly  smiled.  "Fear 
not,  Edmund,"  he  replied ;  "did  I  regard  my  duty  to 
my  people  as  of  so  little  moment  I  would  give  up  my 
throne  and  wed  whom  I  desired.  God  gave  me  my 
life,  and  I  must  keep  it  until  the  end.  But  why  did 
he  give  me  this  tormenting  love?"  he  cried  passion- 
ately. "Why  must  I  be  thus  cursed  ?" 

"My  liege,"  said  Mortimer  gently,  "no  love  is  a 
curse.  Thou  canst  make  thine  a  noble  blessing." 

"Doth  it  indeed  seem  possible  to  thee,  Edmund?" 
cried  the  King  almost  fiercely.  "Tell  me,  I  prithee, 
how  thou  wouldst  proceed.  When  I  do  stand  before 
the  Princess  Catherine,  and  greet  her  as  the  future 
Queen  of  England,  when  I  do  vow  to  take  her  as  my 
wife,  and  pledge  to  her  my  honor  and  loyalty,  can  I 


Every  Inch  a  King         345 

then  see  among  her  train  the  lady  whom  I  love  with 
all  my  heart,  and  yet  declare  my  love  shall  be  a  bless- 
ing? By  Heaven!  thou  art  mad  to  call  it  so!" 

Henry  sprang  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his  hands 
appealingly.  "Ah,  Edmund,  I  would  gladly  die  to- 
night could  I  but  have  one  hour  of  happiness.  Oh, 
my  friend,  my  fate  is  very  bitter !" 

The  earl  went  to  him  and  gently  placed  an  arm 
across  his  shoulders.  "Dear  my  lord,  be  comforted," 
he  said,  in  tones  that  trembled  with  deep  sympathy. 
The  young  King  stood  a  moment,  struggling  to  pre- 
serve his  self-control.  It  was  years  since  any  one — 
even  the  earl  himself — had  dared  to  show  such  ten- 
derness for  him,  and  the  touch  of  Mortimer's  arm 
almost  unmanned  him,  but  in  an  instant  he  was  calm 
again.  "Remain  here,  Edmund,"  he  said  steadily, 
"I  will  return  erelong,"  and  he  turned  hurriedly 
away  and  descended  the  slope  to  the  water's  edge. 

Henry  knew  that  not  even  his  friend  could  help 
him  in  this  last  fight.  For  half  an  hour  he  paced  the 
bank  alone,  battling  with  the  desires  of  his  heart, 
which  he  believed  unholy.  With  hands  clinched  and 
a  brow  upon  which  the  moisture  stood  in  drops,  he 
fought  to  tear  his  love  from  his  pure  heart,  that  he 
might  bestow  upon  the  Princess  that  entire  loyalty 
which  he  felt  was  necessary  to  every  holy  marriage. 
The  agony  which  this  struggle  cost  him  would  have 
driven  a  weaker  man  to  desperate  deeds;  but  at 
length,  with  a  prayer  for  strength  upon  his  lips, 
Henry  of  Monmouth  drew  from  his  breast  the 


346         Every  Inch  a  King 

miniature,  tore  it  into  small  pieces,  and  throwing 
them  into  the  water,  watched  them  slowly  drift 
down  the  moonlit  stream  and  vanish  into  the  black 
depths.  The  young  monarch  knelt  for  a  moment 
imploring  help  and  comfort  from  that  Power  who 
alone  could  grant  his  plea,  then  rising,  he  ascended 
the  sloping  bank  and  called  softly,  "Mortimer !" 

The  earl,  who  had  grown  very  anxious  at  his  long 
absence,  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  of  relief.  He 
could  not  see  in  the  dim  light  that  Henry's  face 
was  calm  and  peaceful  once  more,  but  in  his  voice 
he  heard  the  note  of  triumph  and  confidence.  "Come 
with  me,  Edmund,"  said  the  King  quietly,  "I  have 
often  shared  thy  couch — to-night  thou  shalt  share 
mine,  for  thou  must  be  beside  me  on  the  morrow 
when  I  greet  my  bride,  the  Princess  Catherine." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"And  to  his  eye 

There  was  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth, 
And  that  was  shining  on  him." 

BYRON. 

THE  thirtieth  of  May  dawned  clear  and  beautiful. 
Most  elaborate  preparations  had  been  made  for  the 
great  meeting.  The  French  were  encamped  at  Pon- 
toise,  the  English  at  Mantes,  and  between  the  vil- 
lages Queen  Isabella  had  caused  to  be  erected  two 
great  tents ;  that  of  the  French  being  of  blue  velvet 
richly  embroidered  with  the  nation's  emblem,  the 
fleur-de-lis,  surmounted  by  the  silver  figure  of  a  fly- 
ing hart,  with  enamelled  wings;  while  the  English 
tent  was  even  more  magnificent,  being  made  of  al- 
ternate blue  and  green  velvet  with  two  antelopes 
worked  upon  it,  one  drawing  in  a  mill,  the  other 
seated  on  high,  with  a  branch  of  olives  in  his  mouth ; 
— the  motto,  "After  busy  labor  comes  victorious 
rest,"  explained  the  design;  at  the  top  of  the  tent 
rested  a  golden  eagle,  whose  eyes  were  two  dia- 
monds. 

Between  these  gorgeous  tents  was  a  magnificent 
centre  pavilion,  on  either  side  of  which  were  placed 
barriers,  to  be  closely  guarded,  that  none  but  the 
highest  dignitaries  might  enter. 

At  three  in  the  afternoon  the  two  parties  issued 


348         Every  Inch  a  King 

from  their  tents  and  proceeded  in  state  to  the  pa- 
vilion. The  scene  was  a  most  brilliant  one.  The 
Queen,  gorgeously  robed,  walked  by  the  side  of 
John  of  Burgundy,  with  the  Princess  Catherine 
upon  her  left.  They  were  followed  by  an  extensive 
train  of  lords  and  ladies  splendidly  arrayed. 

King  Henry,  in  royal  robes  and  crowned,  walked 
at  the  head  of  his  great  nobles  with  such  proud  dig- 
nity in  his  mien  that  he  inspired  awe  in  every  breast. 
His  face  was  calm,  as  befitted  one  who  had  con- 
quered his  own  spirit,  and  his  heart  was  quiet  and 
content.  The  battle  with  his  love  had  ended,  and 
without  dismay,  but  with  the  determination  to  do  his 
duty  fully,  he  moved  steadily  forward  to  greet  his 
future  bride.  Entering  the  pavilion,  the  King  first 
advanced  to  Isabelle,  and  saluted  her  by  a  profound 
obeisance.  Then  he  turned  toward  the  Princess. 
Catherine,  in  the  very  height  of  her  youth  and 
beauty,  stood  beside  her  mother ;  her  slender,  grace- 
ful figure  arrayed  in  a  rich  gown,  over  which  fell  a 
long  mantle  of  ermine,  the  front  being  a  broad  strip 
of  ermine  embroidered  with  magnificent  jewels, 
while  her  head,  held  erect  with  charming  dignity, 
was  crowned  by  the  arched  coronet  worn  by  the  chil- 
dren of  the  King  of  France. 

As  the  English  nobles  saw  her  beauty,  murmurs 
of  admiration  and  satisfaction  rose  among  them; 
but  Henry,  looking  full  into  her  face,  started  vio- 
lently and  uttered  a  sharp  cry.  Was  he  mad  ?  Had 
his  eyes,  longing  for  the  sight  of  certain  features, 


Every  Inch  a  King         349 

played  him  false?  He  gazed,  stupefied,  upon  that 
delicate,  oval-shaped  face,  that  fair  complexion,  that 
exquisitely  cut  mouth,  those  dark  and  lustrous 
eyes, — a  thousand  times  more  beautiful  than  even 
his  imagination  had  painted  her,  and  yet  the  living, 
breathing  image  of  his  thoughts ! 

Catherine's  cheeks  grew  crimson  under  his  fixed, 
abstracted  gaze;  the  Queen  watched  him  in  evident 
amazement,  and  Burgundy  made  an  impatient  move- 
ment. The  Duke  of  Clarence  stepped  forward  and 
touched  his  brother  upon  the  arm.  Henry,  recalled 
with  a  start  to  his  surroundings,  turned  hastily  to 
Isabelle,  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  a  throne 
covered  with  cloth  of  gold.  He  then  took  a  seat 
opposite,  listened  to  Burgundy's  greetings,  and  re- 
sponded very  graciously.  This  duty  over,  however, 
he  paid  no  further  heed  to  the  proceedings,  and 
while  Earl  Warwick  and  other  Englishmen  ad- 
dressed the  Queen  and  replied  to  the  compliments  of 
the  French  nobility,  King  Henry,  who  had  never 
been  known  to  lose  for  an  instant  either  his  dignity 
or  his  self-control,  sat  perfectly  motionless  in  his 
place,  his  eyes  fixed  with  an  eager,  intense  gaze  upon 
the  Princess  Catherine,  completely  oblivious  to  what 
was  happening  around  him. 

When  the  conference  was  at  last  ended,  he  parted 
from  her  so  reluctantly  and  with  such  a  depth  of 
emotion  in  his  look  and  tone,  that  her  heart  throbbed 
wildly  and  she  could  scarcely  meet  his  eyes. 

There  never  lived  a  woman  who  did  not  desire  to 


350         Every  Inch  a  King 

be  wooed,  and  Catherine  of  Valois,  after  a  restless 
night,  paced  her  apartment  with  impatient  steps. 
"Is  it  not  hard,  Joan,"  she  cried  in  French  to  her 
favorite  lady,  "that  because  I  am  a  princess  I  must 
stand  by  in  silence  while  my  royal  suitor  asks  the 
King,  my  father,  for  my  hand?  Oh,  I  would  that 
I  were  a  beggar  maid  and  he  a  peasant,  that  he 
might  woo  me  freely  with  sweet  words!  By 
Heaven,  methinks  he  would  be  eloquent !" 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  her  lips  when  one  of 
her  maidens  entered  in  great  excitement.  "Madam," 
she  stammered,  "King  Henry  himself  standeth  be- 
low and  craveth  speech  with  your  Grace." 

Catherine  seized  her  by  the  arm.  "Hast  lost  thy 
wits,  girl?"  she  cried.  "What  doth  he  here?  Is  he 
attended  by  his  noble  train?  Cometh  he  not  to  see 
mine  honored  mother?" 

"Nay,  madam,"  answered  the  lady,  "he  rode 
hither  with  scarce  a  dozen  men-at-arms,  and  dis- 
mounting at  the  door,  entered  the  hall  alone  and 
asked  for  you." 

The  Princess  sprang  to  her  dressing-table. 
"Quick,  Margery,  fetch  me  my  flowered  satin 
trimmed  with  rubies,  and  thou,  Joan,  I  prithee  un- 
bind my  hair.  Blanche,  hie  thee  to  the  King  with 
speed,  and  tell  him  that  I  will  be  with  him  anon." 

In  spite  of  her  desire  to  appear  as  charming  as 
possible,  the  Princess  made  a  very  hasty  toilet,  but  to 
the  impatient  monarch  it  seemed  an  age  ere  she  at 
last  descended,  accompanied  by  the  ladies  Joan  and 


Every  Inch  a  King         351 

Margery.  He  came  forward  to  meet  her,  his  eyes 
brilliant  with  joy.  She  faltered  a  little,  and  blushed 
most  charmingly  as  she  asked  in  her  pretty,  broken 
English,  "Monseigneur,  you  come  to  spik  to — ma 
mere.  Ees  it  not  so?" 

"Upon  mine  honor,  no !"  cried  the  King.  "I  come 
to  speak  with  thee,  thou  fairest  of  all  maidens.  Wilt 
thou  give  me  leave  to  tell  thee  what  is  in  my  heart?" 

"II  n'est  pas  le  coutume  de  France, — "  began  the 
Princess  hesitatingly,  but  Henry  cried  out, — "What! 
Wilt  thou  submit  thee  to  the  decree  of  custom? 
Now,  by  my  faith,  I  have  no  patience  with  it !  Must 
I  so  curb  my  heart  that  when  we  meet  in  state  my 
greeting  shall  be  only  with  mine  eyes?  Nay,  as  I 
live,  thou  shalt  know  my  love  for  thee  by  other 
method  than  thy  mother's  lips.  Sweetheart,  my 
heart  has  been  within  thy  keeping  for  many  years." 

Catherine  glanced  at  him,  half  shyly,  half  mis- 
chievously, "Ees  yesterday  many  years?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"Nay,  I  speak  truth,"  he  answered  earnestly. 
"I  loved  thee  long,  long  ere  I  did  see  thee.  The 
thought  of  thee  has  been  my  strength  and  my  en- 
couragement throughout  the  busy  years  which  I 
have  lived,  and  yet  I  did  not  know  thou  wert  the 
princess !  Wouldst  thou  hear  the  story  of  my  love  ?" 

Catherine  hesitated,  looked  into  his  eager  face, 
and  yielded  to  her  curiosity.  "I  vill  listen,"  she 
said,  and  dropped  her  eyes  before  the  passion  which 
shot  out  of  his.  He  took  her  hand,  and  in  the  hap- 


35 2          Every  Inch  a  King 

piness  of  that  moment  forgot  even  the  two  ladies 
who  stood  behind  her,  watching  his  handsome  face 
with  eager  eyes.  "Fair  Catherine,"  said  Henry 
gently,  "when  thou  wert  but  a  child,  a  Frenchman 
more  noble  in  birth  than  strong  in  character,  loved 
thee  and  left  his  monastery  to  see  thy  beauteous 
face.  He  painted  a  miniature  of  thee,  and,  dying  at 
Calais,  gave  it  unto  me.  'Twas  while  I  was  but 
Prince  of  Wales,  my  sweet,  yet  I  did  love  thee 
then  as  I  love  thee  now !  What  sayest  thou  to  my 
constancy  ?" 

The  Princess's  cheeks  were  rose-color.  She 
understood  the  meaning  of  this  simple  story,  and  her 
heart  bounded  at  the  thought  of  such  great  love.  "I 
would  see  zat  picture,"  she  said  shyly. 

;  Henry  shook  his  head  sadly.  "The  night  before 
I  saw  thee,  Catherine,  I  did  destroy  it  that  I  might 
offer  to  my  future  bride  my  undivided  heart.  Ah,  if 
thou  didst  but  know  the  cruel  battle  I  fought  to  con- 
quer my  love  for  thee !  And  now,  thou  fairest,  I  can 
love  thee  without  thought  of  wrong,  for  thou  shalt 
be  the  bride  of  Harry  of  England." 

She  met  his  eyes  for  a  brief  moment.  "If  it  sail 
please  le  roi  mon  pere,"  she  answered  shyly. 

"Nay,  doubt  not  but  it  will  please  him  well," 
answered  the  King  confidently ;  "for  I  will  make  thee 
Queen  over  the  united  kingdoms  of  England  and  of 
France!  But,  sweetheart,  I  desire  somewhat  more 
than  a  fair  queen,"  he  continued  earnestly.  "I  love 
thee,  Catherine,  with  all  my  heart.  What  sayest 


Every  Inch  a  King         353 

thou  ?  Canst  thou  bestow  upon  me  the  love  a  tender 
wife  owes  to  her  husband?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  murmured. 

"Nay,  fairest,  let  me  look  into  thine  eyes.  Oh! 
they  are  glorious;  and  those  enchanting  lips  tempt 
me  to  madness!  How  I  have  hungered  for  this 
blessed  day.  Canst  thou  not  give  me  one  precious 
word  to  treasure?  Wilt  thou  not  love  me,  Cath- 
erine ?" 

She  trembled  a  little,  then  looked  again  at  him, 
noted  his  grace,  his  beauty,  the  passionate  fire  of 
love  within  his  eyes;  and  as  she  looked  there  came 
to  his  lips  that  radiant  smile  which  no  one  could  re- 
sist, and  the  Princess,  her  heart  bounding  with  hap- 
piness, smiled  back  at  him  and  held  out  her  little 
hand. 

With  a  cry,  the  King  sprang  forward.  "Dost 
thou  love  me?"  he  demanded,  trembling  in  his  eager- 
ness. An  instant  she  hesitated,  then  raised  her  head 
and  allowed  her  eyes  to  answer.  He  searched  them 
with  an  intense  gaze,  and  with  his  great  joy  throb- 
bing in  his  voice,  pleaded,  "Tell  it  me,  my  sweet. 
Say  to  me,  Harry,  I  love  thee."  Her  bosom  heaved, 
her  eyes  were  downcast,  but  his  voice  rang  in  her 
ears,  and  at  length  she  gathered  courage  and  bravely 
said,  "Mon  roi,  I — love — "  she  could  go  no  farther, 
for  the  King,  with  a  deep  and  tender  joy,  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  placed  upon  her  lips  the  kiss  which 
sealed  the  union  of  their  lives. 

And  Henry  of    Monmouth,  looking  into  Cath- 


354         Every  Inch  a  King 

erine's  eyes,  knew  that  God  had  granted  to  him 
above  all  men  the  perfect  love  which  makes  this 
earth  a  heaven. 


THE   END. 


